achey feet, tired trees light shimmering bold cold lips and stained tees the summer hum will hold summer light will hold cold lips and achy trees
ice cream sweet tease on tangy lips and rolled tongues, catching bees sleepy bushes grow old lips tangy on rolled bushes sleepy and old
grass green under knees rubbed in stains told stories of fun release and afternoons of gold golden afternoons told stains in green knees
camp crawls down, locked keys a quiet energy wrapped and wooled the fall crawls in and takes leaves the moss sprawls out, winter pulled locked down keys crawls fall, sprawled out and wooled
tallow winds crawl up the tounge, tart as clean canvases are sheer and art holding his hand sooths the stomach like ibuprophen on an old ache of back or hot showers after a day of weeding a cool breeze in my hair, my sealing tallow winds crawl up the tounge, tart as clean canvases are sheer and art he is my lemon-lime shake, my sky in the dark night, my wings as I fly both downfeathers and flight hold me up as I glide in the night tallow winds crawl up the tounge, tart as clean canvases are sheer and art
today i saw stars crawling skyward bars of light Today it was Mars lined with the Moon farce like bright lies lingering cars in empty lines, ours to fight.
he was such a mischevious fox smarter than the sun, and shiny like a slicked coat, bold red locks played with the frame of his face he couldn't hide his mischeif box below the brightness of his eyes or the dress of his twilled socks he also had a fortune not so tiny from being great at making clocks
Ooh, yay, lots of beautiful structured poems! I've actually learnt a couple of new structures just from reading this thread - and now I want to try a cywydd llosgyrnog, if only because it has such an incredibly Welsh name.
Your naani is wonderfully succinct, and I like your choice of refrain for the kyrielle (which happens to be a favourite structure of mine - though I always struggle to find a line which works repeated so often). And all of these have an excellent rhythm to them - this bit is a favourite:
tallow winds crawl up the tounge, tart as clean canvases are sheer and art he is my lemon-lime shake, my sky in the dark night, my wings as I fly
"The fact is, I don't know where my ideas come from. Nor does any writer. The only real answer is to drink way too much coffee and buy yourself a desk that doesn't collapse when you beat your head against it." --Douglas Adams
A person is a fool to become a writer. His only compensation is absolute freedom. He has no master except his own soul, and that, I am sure, is why he does it. — Roald Dahl
Gender:
Points: 1883
Reviews: 806