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

It was the Saturday before Halloween
And my friends were having a blowout.
For the first time in a long time I chose
To make an exception and go on out
Dressed up for the occasion that night
As Moses without the tablets, a mask,
And when I got there, nobody groaned
Instead, I got offered a hit on a flask.

So, I arrived at the party, not hopeful
That a good time would be had by all.
I wore my silly old man mask at first
And my long gold robe to cover it all.
No biggie, everyone was dressed up
In outrageous, fantasy forms of attire
There were princesses and knights.
I called one crowned fellow sire.

My friends were doing a wine tasting
In connection with the happy affair
So, I took them up on all of that
After doffing my mask full of long hair.
We joked and told each other tales
Of our activities at work and home.
Later, I found myself kissing with
A hot to trot, **** garden gnome.

Then my oldest buddy Dan said,
“Let’s take this to the Boulevard.
It was just five blocks to the south
So the walk won’t be that hard.”
Seeing the adventure in this
Nobody disagreed even a little
We took off in a clump of twenty
With me masked, close to the middle.

First was our friend, Allan the artist.
He’d constructed a seven foot ****.
He wore black pants and shoes
But the papier mache did the trick.
Second was the Darth Vader guy,
A lawyer in a fine rented outfit.
Behind him was Doctor Ucia Sickie
In scrub greens with ****** clots on it.

There was Raggedy Anne and Goofy
And a couple of Midnight Cowboys
And Dan was dressed quite normally
Because he was the outing’s decoy.
See, most of us were a bit drunk, and
Nobody had any dope on them then
As it was a touchy time about ***
In the days of Reagan, way back when.

Daniel didn’t care. Without telling a soul
He had whipped up Toklas brownies
And passed them to us, getting us ripped
Completely unknown to most of the townies.
Dan raised great window-box stuff, so I
Remembered, in two bites, from times before,
And soon I got that happy, toasty feeling
And my shyness was suddenly no more.

Of we went, twenty fools wide then
Wandering down the Avenue of Stars
Goggling at the crowd, the costumes,
The zinging lights and the hopping cars.
Everyone had beer bottles, not just us
Or wine bottles and were guzzling glad
About this happy, jam packed occasion
There was no way to be bored or sad.

The cholos were dancing their hydraulics
On cars that cost more than some homes,
And the sidewalks were all overflowing
With humans thick as laundry foam.
It wasn’t really walking, it was standing up
And letting the tide of people carry me
In a Mardi Gras atmosphere of loopy fun
That offered up nothing to worry me.

We went all the way to Fairfax, then we
Turned around and made our way back
A knotted mass of silly people gabbing
Like hamsters running on an invisible track.
Halfway down, at about Hudson street,
In front of me I heard something loud.
People were screaming with laughter
And gathered in an even tighter crowd.

The middle of a circle, with TV cameras,
Was Allan, the seven foot ****, corralling
A six foot, totally authentic Miss Piggy
And she was fending him off giggling.
He kept putting the huge head of his guise
Down toward her thighs, and the crowd
Applauded, hooted, whistled and laughed
And it seemed the Boulevard just howled.

It was on the news the next morning
As we all were sure it would have to be
But that night became a noteworthy one
For all of my friends, strangers and me.
You never know what will happen to you
When you let yourself be a bit more free.
You might end up in a Halloween Parade.
Well. At least that’s what happened to me.

I'd like to paint
you in an atrium of colorful
echoes zinging past your
face like hummingbirds

add in a touch of forest green, the
murky-gray lake water, white triangles
sketched for carefree sails

burnished by unusually honest conversation,
only sky blue and gold for the looks thrown
in each direction and inexplicable smiles

a rainbow,
         a myriad for the future,

but you stand alongside me
      as breathtaking landscape

and no art could do that justice

It is longer spring here
down at the bottom of the world
(if I were being truthful
at the very bottom of the world
spring is a mere matter of degrees)

Here in the land of Oz
we are in Autumn,
yet driving today,
the sunshining through
the last  of the clouds and
the waratahs red and vibrant
competing with the yellow
sunshine cascading drops
of the wattles , all outdone by
the bougainvilleas with their
bursts of deep, deep purple

the smell of lemon myrtle and eucalypt,
giving a zinging zest to the air
you could well believe that
nature did not get the memo...

This is a test do not be alarmed
slow dancing in a burning room
drinking cheap cider around the back of the dynamo
the electricity zinging
small birds hopping about
playing  with the  spark
it rains steam rises and
Rabbit says he’s more interested in
****** these days than ***
flicking matches into the air
throwing fire crackers at passing stray dogs
dreaming of torching cats but they
are too quick
playing with the spark

Electricity
Tingly fires inside
Pulling me to you
My will irrelevant

Starting in my fingertips
Sneaking a reason to touch your hand
Zinging into the back of my hand
Your response burning insecurities

My hands pleasantly ache with light
A light my heart burns with
Something I can't imagine
Something I have missed

I know this is a wrong turn
I know that you're bad news
My head tells me to care
My heart says that I don't

You know how to make me smile
Slowly starting to understand
I'm not so misunderstood
Just largely undiscovered

There's a thunder storm out there
As the lightening strikes I smile
Head leant on the window I can only say
"The speed with which you hit the sky,
Is the speed my heart beats around this guy."

1

Last night dinner
with four couples
points out the difficulties in living together
and apart.
                    Even the
son of a wealthy doctor, disdainful of
inebriates more artificial than the moon,
full, full of joy for humanity
and life
                 suffers deepening depressions
like the dark outside a lamplight.

It was a good restaurant
expensive but comfortable
in the alternate life-style way
the cook was a hairy
talented clown
and we clowned though beneath each
facade
was turmoil and decay.
                                           We lay
beside each other like bones
in a boneyard
and find joy (I do anyway)
in the bone dance
to bone music.
                                
2

Without a thought for slash fuel
or deer, the mist
deepens and deteriorates upon
the mountain. The mountain
completely unaware
of its greenness. The ice
is centuries old.

A red-tailed hawk
floats above the unit
observes what small mammals, birds
are in the clearcut

Awaits
the moment
to strike

or fades away almost
silent as the mist. I dream
of it, though I am awake
among my co-workers, the bullet
system zinging cut logs down
to the road, firewood.

3

Pardon
me you mountains
for coming to the edge
without mystical knowledge
or belief, only love and wrinkled
eyes for the women and men who
light the fires and wield the chain saws,
drive the cat, swing the ax, I

completely laugh among them like a god
yes, although my face is a mask of hate
and pain, what god does not come to this field
of flowers out of fear and confusion and chains
product of the hot anvil and hot engine
of human history.
                                                
This duality, these arm-breaking dualities
this volcanic eruption erupting from some
confluence of beheaded forces, one
powerful with eternity, one
blinding with intensity, meet
and in the middle is me

like a husband and wife fighting
like two dogs fighting but not biting hard
life bests my best synthesis of it
and I begin to pray, hard to believe
I kneel woefully and pray
for a happy combination
of sun and mist
and sometimes man’s destruction.

My life feels busy and constricted,
events a thunderstorm, rumbling towards me,
they go by so quick, lightning zinging from the sky.
I wish I could slow it all down, watch the ***, stop it from boiling.

i kind of want to *******
and be through
with that smug smirk
gracing angelic lips
and the infatuation brewing
in the folds of my washed out brain
like i have the patience,
let alone the time,
to sit here aimlessly
and fantasize.

there's something wicked
in how your hips move
stealthy like a panther,
midnight inky blue,
something bitter in my mouth
like your ******* attitude.
you don't say my name,
you don't bother to know it,
i don't share it;
got no reasons to show it
waves upon waves,
blazing brilliant azure
sin walks alive, fractured
and malignant
your lips twitch sinister,
and i find myself enraptured, captured,
fixated
on your voluminous luxe cherry lips
how delicately your tongue slips
god your hands should be here
i need them on my hips
gentle pressure from the very tiptips
is this what it's like,
weightlessness?

each day i see a shade of you,
crimson bled, royal hue
shadows stretch inside my head
while you break the springs of my bed
demons wrestle; my fingers grip your head
i let you create chaos and slay fleeting time
set ablaze, burning alive
i'm paralyzed here in the heat of the day
your toxins thrum on,
zinging through my addict's veins

i think i need to *******
before i'm swallowed whole
a million little pieces suspended,
helplessly on hold,
in a moment, london comes crashing down
and i'm broken, unable to make even
a fraction of coherent sound
you filthy beast, on the prowl
now i'll steal every precious hour
go on and lock me in
your ivory tower
let your hair down, ***** gold as corn
i'm forever yours,
no longer forlon

Yellow sky with
starlings zinging by,

a crack of wind whips
tree arms into tangles,

it storm-troops disappointed
out of sight,

as baritones inform that
farms are mangled.

Shotgun blasts of hail
thrown hard it hits,

my windowpane with
nature's angry fist,

I shoulda headed West on 51,
but sorta didn't care if it came on.



Sara Fielder © Apr 2022

Crash into me, brush aside your wasted time, I have a rhythm for your mind.

I’ve been ******* on a dime, I like it’s flavor, I know I am odd.

Can you ******* rythme, can you feel it’s metal zinging on your mind?

I’ve been working on this for some time, working up line by line building the ****** to engage your brain dragging you deep into my mind.

This is the depth of my existence, the ink bleeds from my arteries. Poetry is what I leave behind, my missy floods of expression.

Your left swimming in my pools of formatted creations, passion brings you to my surface.

I zing upon your mind, the taste is like metal, cool and you climb my mountains of rhymes. I’ll catch you if you fall, my rhythm catchs everything.

This rolls so easily off the tip of my tongue, like a cool breath exhaled with my rythme following behind. I plant my poetic kiss upon this page for you to consume.

Thanks for stopping by.

© 2020 By Amanda Shelton

Town Full Of Sound

I use to live in
A town full of sound
With Roller Coasters
And Merry Go Round
Horns would blast
To sound an alarm

I use to live in
A town full of sound

I use to live in
A town full of sound
Pinballs were zinging
And barkers would hound
Foghorns were blaring
A mournful fog song

I use to live in
A town full of sound

I use to live in
A town full of sounds
Salt water taffy
Came clacking on down
The bandstand was swinging
Those Glen Miller songs

I use to live in
A town full of sound

I use to live in
A  town full of sound
Where all sorts of music
Played all over town
Screech of the crowd
As the Comet roared down

I use to live in
A town full of sound

Bill MacEachern May 2, 2024

4:44
birds awake and singing

didn't sleep at all
memories keep on zinging

will death break my fall?
will she call me bringing?

we in Wetheral
River Eden ringing

              Mist!

No way to get away from music
as you are music playing
though not necessarily well

the string of your moments
the sound of the deep dark background
quavering at different scales

stars even inevitably changed
by the sound of you being
an instrument sounding

you change like a pendulum
as it reverses its mind again
zinging toward right in now

on the very same canvas
properly stretched entanglement
is amused and hides my smile