<![CDATA[Poetry Forum - Miscellaneous Poetry]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/ Mon, 01 Jun 2026 19:23:36 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[Dog expert]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27396.html Wed, 27 May 2026 18:15:24 +0000 CRNDLSM]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27396.html Bad dog
Good Ole bad Ole big Ole
Little dog

Thank you so much

Everything known
Has an exception
Plan D is always 
Improvise

Dont be surprised

All dogs are good dogs
All dogs are bad dogs
All dogs are puppies forever

No one knows your dog
Better than you
You dont know your dog
When youre not there
(You think you do)


These are the facts]]> Bad dog
Good Ole bad Ole big Ole
Little dog

Thank you so much

Everything known
Has an exception
Plan D is always 
Improvise

Dont be surprised

All dogs are good dogs
All dogs are bad dogs
All dogs are puppies forever

No one knows your dog
Better than you
You dont know your dog
When youre not there
(You think you do)


These are the facts]]> <![CDATA[Pulse, the Dark Round]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27395.html Tue, 26 May 2026 19:29:48 +0000 rowens]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27395.html Pulse, the Dark Round

When queen cats, shed of inner lions,
turf-angry, embrace their shadow like a trauma
and purr close to rocky ditch between stony smiles:
how can one tom tell-tale of harmonies
different? Frequencies only she can wail.

Answers are not in any square defining,
nor are they bumper-stickered on her social
wall. Once nipple-weaned, genders cry out
blood. Myths of milk linger,
churn, spilling each litter.

The feline brain stays open nights;
essential life is dreaming. Circular square
of angles, its own cellblock, a densely
loose colony of shades. Stray
certainties make leaps for each round
butterfly: dead of its own round.

Food is a secret, scratching all desires
from hamlet stones.—What is in a rock?
Gentle vibrations only strangers heal. Beauty
though it hides in raspy tongue, laps the ocean
free again. Churning teats in their decline,
pollution savory for vultures. Certainty's midwives.]]> Pulse, the Dark Round

When queen cats, shed of inner lions,
turf-angry, embrace their shadow like a trauma
and purr close to rocky ditch between stony smiles:
how can one tom tell-tale of harmonies
different? Frequencies only she can wail.

Answers are not in any square defining,
nor are they bumper-stickered on her social
wall. Once nipple-weaned, genders cry out
blood. Myths of milk linger,
churn, spilling each litter.

The feline brain stays open nights;
essential life is dreaming. Circular square
of angles, its own cellblock, a densely
loose colony of shades. Stray
certainties make leaps for each round
butterfly: dead of its own round.

Food is a secret, scratching all desires
from hamlet stones.—What is in a rock?
Gentle vibrations only strangers heal. Beauty
though it hides in raspy tongue, laps the ocean
free again. Churning teats in their decline,
pollution savory for vultures. Certainty's midwives.]]> <![CDATA[Journey]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27374.html Wed, 13 May 2026 19:52:51 +0000 Bruce V]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27374.html I've tried to find 
The way back
But the further I travel
The fewer things I recognize.
Am I lost
Or am I getting close?]]> I've tried to find 
The way back
But the further I travel
The fewer things I recognize.
Am I lost
Or am I getting close?]]> <![CDATA[Post Lightning]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27366.html Sun, 10 May 2026 19:35:22 +0000 Bunx]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27366.html Post Lightning 

Sometimes I replace 
"I don't care"
with silence,
because I forgot how to share.

An aura of shame,
outlined by fear
protected by pills
that hold back tears.

Catalyzed by 
hidden events in my life
that happened
during trying times. 

My vision went 
beyond comprehension.

Portraits morphing in jailcells 
to changing hospital walls.
Days after being tazed 
inside my former living room. 

Watched from the 
body cams perspective 
a nightmare
recalled differently.

Seeing myself confused, fainting 
down worn blue stairs.

Cops picked the loose
shocking metal from skin.

Is this the cost of sin?
The consequence of miss-prescription?
I don't deserve these sensations.

It's not that I lack empathy,
it's not that I don't care.

Mourning the days listening 
to friends complain about their day
answering compassion's call.

I'd rather write about love
then hospital walls.]]> Post Lightning 

Sometimes I replace 
"I don't care"
with silence,
because I forgot how to share.

An aura of shame,
outlined by fear
protected by pills
that hold back tears.

Catalyzed by 
hidden events in my life
that happened
during trying times. 

My vision went 
beyond comprehension.

Portraits morphing in jailcells 
to changing hospital walls.
Days after being tazed 
inside my former living room. 

Watched from the 
body cams perspective 
a nightmare
recalled differently.

Seeing myself confused, fainting 
down worn blue stairs.

Cops picked the loose
shocking metal from skin.

Is this the cost of sin?
The consequence of miss-prescription?
I don't deserve these sensations.

It's not that I lack empathy,
it's not that I don't care.

Mourning the days listening 
to friends complain about their day
answering compassion's call.

I'd rather write about love
then hospital walls.]]> <![CDATA[Merlin's Cave]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27344.html Tue, 28 Apr 2026 14:15:28 +0000 rowens]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27344.html Merlin's Cave


Love-cursed is right;
you didn't do it; 
least not the cursed part.

No, you are no gorgon,
not even close. 

I always wonder how anyone ever made it through
your walls.

And how many defeated their head on the out-
side 

I feel I am walled up
inside your wall.
I can't go forward and I can't go backward.
And every direction I turn, I'm surrounded by your absence.

Does Anteros with his inverted arrows
satisfy, being turned to stone?

All I see beyond a scorched forest of the Impossible,
my drive and goal,
Love, even more impossible.

I might as well believe in God.]]> Merlin's Cave


Love-cursed is right;
you didn't do it; 
least not the cursed part.

No, you are no gorgon,
not even close. 

I always wonder how anyone ever made it through
your walls.

And how many defeated their head on the out-
side 

I feel I am walled up
inside your wall.
I can't go forward and I can't go backward.
And every direction I turn, I'm surrounded by your absence.

Does Anteros with his inverted arrows
satisfy, being turned to stone?

All I see beyond a scorched forest of the Impossible,
my drive and goal,
Love, even more impossible.

I might as well believe in God.]]> <![CDATA[To the Moon]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27334.html Thu, 23 Apr 2026 20:24:13 +0000 alonso ramoran]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27334.html To the Moon

I've said good night to everyone:
family, friends, and neighbors
who deliver mail, drive buses, pick up trash
and go for morning walks; everyone
whose living went unsaid, who's living now,
gone and to be born; everyone close
to the talahib and cascochas.
I've said good night to the animals,
the red-faced ducks waddling together,
the dogs the neighbors take on evening walks,
the cats watching from beneath parked cars;
and I’ve said good night to the plants
(you can't forget the plants!).
I hope to see you tomorrow morning.

I hope the coos of mourning doves
can be my goodbye as you fade again
into brightening blue over dewslick grass
if I'm not awake yet. One day
I'll be a ghost and get to follow you
into the stars, because I heard
you're slowly leaving us. For tonight
and all the other nights, you're the one
who follows me, watchful as I sleep.
I've said good night to no one
until I say good night to you.
Good night, fair moon, good night!

v1
To the Moon

I've said good night to everyone:
family, friends, and neighbors
who deliver mail, drive buses, pick up trash
and go for morning walks, everyone
who I’m forgetting, who lives now,
will be born, is gone, everyone close
to the talahib and cascochas,
and I've said good night to the animals,
the red-faced ducks waddling together,
the dogs the neighbors take on morning walks,
the cats watching from beneath parked cars,
and I’ve said good night to the plants
(you can't forget the plants!).
I hope to see you tomorrow morning.

I hope the coos of mourning doves
can be my goodbye as you fade again
into brightening blue over dewslick grass
if I'm not awake yet. One day
I'll be a ghost and get to follow you
into the stars, because I heard
you're slowly leaving us. For tonight
and all the other nights, you're the one
who follows me, watchful as I sleep.
I say good night to no one
until I say good night to you.
Good night, fair moon, good night!
]]> To the Moon

I've said good night to everyone:
family, friends, and neighbors
who deliver mail, drive buses, pick up trash
and go for morning walks; everyone
whose living went unsaid, who's living now,
gone and to be born; everyone close
to the talahib and cascochas.
I've said good night to the animals,
the red-faced ducks waddling together,
the dogs the neighbors take on evening walks,
the cats watching from beneath parked cars;
and I’ve said good night to the plants
(you can't forget the plants!).
I hope to see you tomorrow morning.

I hope the coos of mourning doves
can be my goodbye as you fade again
into brightening blue over dewslick grass
if I'm not awake yet. One day
I'll be a ghost and get to follow you
into the stars, because I heard
you're slowly leaving us. For tonight
and all the other nights, you're the one
who follows me, watchful as I sleep.
I've said good night to no one
until I say good night to you.
Good night, fair moon, good night!

v1
To the Moon

I've said good night to everyone:
family, friends, and neighbors
who deliver mail, drive buses, pick up trash
and go for morning walks, everyone
who I’m forgetting, who lives now,
will be born, is gone, everyone close
to the talahib and cascochas,
and I've said good night to the animals,
the red-faced ducks waddling together,
the dogs the neighbors take on morning walks,
the cats watching from beneath parked cars,
and I’ve said good night to the plants
(you can't forget the plants!).
I hope to see you tomorrow morning.

I hope the coos of mourning doves
can be my goodbye as you fade again
into brightening blue over dewslick grass
if I'm not awake yet. One day
I'll be a ghost and get to follow you
into the stars, because I heard
you're slowly leaving us. For tonight
and all the other nights, you're the one
who follows me, watchful as I sleep.
I say good night to no one
until I say good night to you.
Good night, fair moon, good night!
]]> <![CDATA[Primordial (edit)]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27321.html Sun, 19 Apr 2026 21:14:26 +0000 alonso ramoran]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27321.html Primordial

Undone and lost,
the light is scattering.

In the distance, longnecked giants graze
on endless green,
touching light blue air,
everywhere around this pool,

where the Mother and the Father wade,
trying to keep all from drowning
into complete dark again.
Their steadfastness is gentle.
Their hold is a cradle.

Undone and lost,
the light is scattering.

In the distance,
longnecked giants graze
on endless green
that touches light blue air,
everywhere around this pool.

The Mother and the Father try keeping
all from drowning out
again, completely.
Their steadfastness is gentle.
Their hold is a cradle.
]]> Primordial

Undone and lost,
the light is scattering.

In the distance, longnecked giants graze
on endless green,
touching light blue air,
everywhere around this pool,

where the Mother and the Father wade,
trying to keep all from drowning
into complete dark again.
Their steadfastness is gentle.
Their hold is a cradle.

Undone and lost,
the light is scattering.

In the distance,
longnecked giants graze
on endless green
that touches light blue air,
everywhere around this pool.

The Mother and the Father try keeping
all from drowning out
again, completely.
Their steadfastness is gentle.
Their hold is a cradle.
]]> <![CDATA[Waking Sight]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27314.html Thu, 16 Apr 2026 15:27:38 +0000 alonso ramoran]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27314.html of the street with uncle ninong.
Salsa playing in the house.
I'm dancing with abuela, looking up.
Drifting air of fresh steamed rice.
The loudest people everywhere.
It could be someone's birthday.
Knucklebones across the floor,
a cousin teaching. I don't get it.
Big doors open to new voices,
each one saying welcome.]]> of the street with uncle ninong.
Salsa playing in the house.
I'm dancing with abuela, looking up.
Drifting air of fresh steamed rice.
The loudest people everywhere.
It could be someone's birthday.
Knucklebones across the floor,
a cousin teaching. I don't get it.
Big doors open to new voices,
each one saying welcome.]]> <![CDATA[To the First Fire]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27303.html Mon, 13 Apr 2026 18:22:11 +0000 alonso ramoran]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27303.html Our connection, this space
I communicate across, is as strong
as your acceptance
of any part of your position
in the arc that we all follow,
being that you once thought yourself
estranged from your own kind.

In this vein, my presence was immutable:
I'm still with you here,
listening to you grasp
for phantom conduits to channel
the grief of all things
transient and fragile, as if attempting
to call in some alien other
from the dark. Though not alien,

understand these words won’t reach you
as the words you are perceiving,
as your words never reached me
verbatim. Ages distort tongues.
Only warmth survives translation.
You and I can sit in silence
and it would be enough
to watch the embers ebb into the cold night,
wherever you might be,
wherever there is fire.]]> Our connection, this space
I communicate across, is as strong
as your acceptance
of any part of your position
in the arc that we all follow,
being that you once thought yourself
estranged from your own kind.

In this vein, my presence was immutable:
I'm still with you here,
listening to you grasp
for phantom conduits to channel
the grief of all things
transient and fragile, as if attempting
to call in some alien other
from the dark. Though not alien,

understand these words won’t reach you
as the words you are perceiving,
as your words never reached me
verbatim. Ages distort tongues.
Only warmth survives translation.
You and I can sit in silence
and it would be enough
to watch the embers ebb into the cold night,
wherever you might be,
wherever there is fire.]]> <![CDATA[Invisible Man’s Mirror]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27302.html Mon, 13 Apr 2026 17:19:51 +0000 Deor Ana Log]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27302.html runs from me”
I say into my mirror
Another, “please”
Truth escapes like a
Christmas Wreath
Like an easter without eggs
A thanksgiving, no more turkey
Just find me by the side
Of downtown strays
Barking at polish,
And unnamed shoe
dressed in brown and beige 
and saturated skin
I’ll have the dressing
That every feast needs
And my mirror is shiny dust
I must confess, it heals me
Around drug stores that
Seem to be better 
Sanctuaries 
Too much glass in my 
Straw basket
No, don't help me! 
In specks of my reflection  
I still see myself
See myself perfectly]]> runs from me”
I say into my mirror
Another, “please”
Truth escapes like a
Christmas Wreath
Like an easter without eggs
A thanksgiving, no more turkey
Just find me by the side
Of downtown strays
Barking at polish,
And unnamed shoe
dressed in brown and beige 
and saturated skin
I’ll have the dressing
That every feast needs
And my mirror is shiny dust
I must confess, it heals me
Around drug stores that
Seem to be better 
Sanctuaries 
Too much glass in my 
Straw basket
No, don't help me! 
In specks of my reflection  
I still see myself
See myself perfectly]]> <![CDATA[Cats Life]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27284.html Mon, 06 Apr 2026 18:36:15 +0000 Bunx]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27284.html Cats Life

Dust floating stagnant in the air.
Between sunlight's pattern poking
through the shutter that
hasn't moved in two years.

Vermilion rays echoing the sunset 
move closer to my eyes. The glare
a reminder of a day passing.

I stretch and yawn, disturbing
the tranquil timbre of traffic
and people outside. 

Waiting for the door to open,
and my human to arrive.]]> Cats Life

Dust floating stagnant in the air.
Between sunlight's pattern poking
through the shutter that
hasn't moved in two years.

Vermilion rays echoing the sunset 
move closer to my eyes. The glare
a reminder of a day passing.

I stretch and yawn, disturbing
the tranquil timbre of traffic
and people outside. 

Waiting for the door to open,
and my human to arrive.]]> <![CDATA[To the Last Fire]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27276.html Thu, 02 Apr 2026 19:53:45 +0000 alonso ramoran]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27276.html did you know it is only on this planet
that you were ever found? On this planet,
meaning, in this breath.

Then, in this late breath admitting
ignorance, you must also know that yesterday
I shunned the moon, when it was full
and large and low with all the sorrows
I let diminish you. Even as I looked.

Your artless language:
you are either here or gone. What else
will your absence mean besides
the confirmation that I’ve spurned you
and, by extension, my siblings
whom you dwell in?

Time and space are deceptive things.
Allow enough of both and an echo
becomes another person's voice.
I blasphemed with distance, then my echoes
shaded into strangers’ voices,
their acquiescing laments always heard like
poems that end, but never as
your flickering.



v1 - To the Last Fire

Gentle flame of desire's wasteland,
did you know it is only on this planet
that you were ever found? On this planet,
meaning, in this breath.

Then, in this late breath admitting
ignorance, you must also know that yesterday
I shunned the moon, when it was full
and large and low with all the sorrows
I let diminish you. Your artless language:
you are either here or gone. What else
will your absence mean besides
the confirmation that I’ve spurned you
and, by extension, my siblings
whom you dwell in?

Time and space are deceptive things.
Allow enough of both and echoes
become another person's voice. I blasphemed
with distance, then my own echoes became 
the voices of strangers.
]]> did you know it is only on this planet
that you were ever found? On this planet,
meaning, in this breath.

Then, in this late breath admitting
ignorance, you must also know that yesterday
I shunned the moon, when it was full
and large and low with all the sorrows
I let diminish you. Even as I looked.

Your artless language:
you are either here or gone. What else
will your absence mean besides
the confirmation that I’ve spurned you
and, by extension, my siblings
whom you dwell in?

Time and space are deceptive things.
Allow enough of both and an echo
becomes another person's voice.
I blasphemed with distance, then my echoes
shaded into strangers’ voices,
their acquiescing laments always heard like
poems that end, but never as
your flickering.



v1 - To the Last Fire

Gentle flame of desire's wasteland,
did you know it is only on this planet
that you were ever found? On this planet,
meaning, in this breath.

Then, in this late breath admitting
ignorance, you must also know that yesterday
I shunned the moon, when it was full
and large and low with all the sorrows
I let diminish you. Your artless language:
you are either here or gone. What else
will your absence mean besides
the confirmation that I’ve spurned you
and, by extension, my siblings
whom you dwell in?

Time and space are deceptive things.
Allow enough of both and echoes
become another person's voice. I blasphemed
with distance, then my own echoes became 
the voices of strangers.
]]> <![CDATA[April Grins]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27274.html Thu, 02 Apr 2026 17:52:02 +0000 Mark A Becker]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27274.html April Grins

April wears a foolish grin, beaming
blossoms from bare limbs, blending
birdsong buzzing sounds, warming
up our eyes with flowers, urging
green from underground, peeking
sunshine between showers.

Now we feel the weather turning
day by day from worse to better, luring
us into the sunny, catching
us off guard with blowing, laughing
though it isn’t funny, fooling
us, suddenly snowing.]]> April Grins

April wears a foolish grin, beaming
blossoms from bare limbs, blending
birdsong buzzing sounds, warming
up our eyes with flowers, urging
green from underground, peeking
sunshine between showers.

Now we feel the weather turning
day by day from worse to better, luring
us into the sunny, catching
us off guard with blowing, laughing
though it isn’t funny, fooling
us, suddenly snowing.]]> <![CDATA[Invocation]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27267.html Wed, 01 Apr 2026 15:16:49 +0000 rowens]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27267.html Invocation

If I were Pessoa,
I'd be happy;
as nothing is more true
than what is.
Not being—
I can imagine,
time, ships, cups and diners,
women who don't know me.
—But I won't think of time:

Inherent as it is,
the atmosphere of,
the context of me
looking back to weathers
and accents which are actually
now, and more felt than sensed.

And in this way, I am happy.
Not being Pessoa.
Pretending I am.]]> Invocation

If I were Pessoa,
I'd be happy;
as nothing is more true
than what is.
Not being—
I can imagine,
time, ships, cups and diners,
women who don't know me.
—But I won't think of time:

Inherent as it is,
the atmosphere of,
the context of me
looking back to weathers
and accents which are actually
now, and more felt than sensed.

And in this way, I am happy.
Not being Pessoa.
Pretending I am.]]> <![CDATA[Chiron and Wabisabi People]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27266.html Tue, 31 Mar 2026 19:36:05 +0000 rowens]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27266.html Chiron and Wabisabi People

Pencil in hand, let's trace
the glances—each aspect,
the human body blinks and belches.

From cool air to warm river,
what flow of difference maintains
a throne? More an antechamber.

Now, in a forest, with the rules of society
the invisible glue that helps us:
Pan and the rest long after fields

open as sundials or daisies;
while Puck, skilled hare of the sound,
is a woodsman through and through.

From pinecone to star, whether our cats
are spies or dogs are guards,
sleep still plays the record

of our middling. Eyes separate as
lovers: How do we afford to
stay afloat, when every possibility

doesn't hold water only,
but explains in the dryest details
what could get the Gorgon wet?

Through a prism of self, he shoots the arrow,
tuning the music the Good Neighbor knows;
sad as that lunar grin can never hold.

Hilly fields with golden teeth
spread silence like patchwork across each
continent. Fertile with sun.

Before the sun, there is no darkness no less
than these sentences we trace recommend.

Song of birds, a bouquet of flowers:
we measure as though they're even.]]> Chiron and Wabisabi People

Pencil in hand, let's trace
the glances—each aspect,
the human body blinks and belches.

From cool air to warm river,
what flow of difference maintains
a throne? More an antechamber.

Now, in a forest, with the rules of society
the invisible glue that helps us:
Pan and the rest long after fields

open as sundials or daisies;
while Puck, skilled hare of the sound,
is a woodsman through and through.

From pinecone to star, whether our cats
are spies or dogs are guards,
sleep still plays the record

of our middling. Eyes separate as
lovers: How do we afford to
stay afloat, when every possibility

doesn't hold water only,
but explains in the dryest details
what could get the Gorgon wet?

Through a prism of self, he shoots the arrow,
tuning the music the Good Neighbor knows;
sad as that lunar grin can never hold.

Hilly fields with golden teeth
spread silence like patchwork across each
continent. Fertile with sun.

Before the sun, there is no darkness no less
than these sentences we trace recommend.

Song of birds, a bouquet of flowers:
we measure as though they're even.]]>