Best Folklore Poems

Royal bengal tiger!
When swim to pass across river
Target is determined.
Just straight forward move on
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~ RAPE RIDE GIZMO @ $ 2 ~
Ms. Nivedita
UK
15 June 15,2012
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My father believed in legends of Indian folklore -
Being raised in the Ohio River valley, he knew his share
He always believed the incessant hooting of an owl
Was the harbinger of imminent death.
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Touch

His warm, sideways glance
Wrapped me like an angora shawl-
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Chastity’…my apologies..
Poem by Sivan PG Menon
(Pl read the preface….penned below)
-
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I woke up and before I got out of bed I thought...
about words of a poem which I'd not yet wrought.
I once heard about something 'God' had 'wrought',
but THAT is not what, by tonight, I hope I've brought
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There was an anthropological study conducted on the children of an African tribe…
that I shall attempt as best I can…in this poem…to now describe.

A basket of fruit was placed under a tree…the children told to be fast and resolute
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The sea was in a foul mood, slamming hard and spraying mightily.
The walls of white battered and tossed the cargo of fools.
No enemy have I so vile, as to wish him aboard that vessel.
Nor have I, I hope, one that should wish me this watery purgatory.
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… Oh, Why Do We Believe? …
… Because Real Legends, Never Leave
A Mistaken Myth, May Be Reality
Or Was It Just A Folklore Legacy
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Did you ever think
of the metaphysical
aspects of sexuality.
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There on the foothills, across the river
Under the grim shadow of chilling fear
Stands the haunted mansion isolated
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Manushi Chhillar has made us proud;
Let this message glow clear and loud.

Beauty of a participant also counts;
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Our poems are an example of words in full in flow,
The diversity and talent really does show,
By refusing to maintain the status quo,
The content and quality will continue to grow.
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Diego Maradona
(30 October 1960 - 25 November 2020)

With Pele you were adjudged 'Man of the Century'
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Everyone will have a year they never forget and for a number of reasons mine is 1966.

I was 18 and King of the Hill in 66, knew it all, but knew nothing at all.
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Shrimp antennae cooked with gourd ovules
Husband pours broth, wife drinks aloud
Both nod their heads saying it's delicious - Folklore
*
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Ned Kelly was a hero and despite what some do say
The legend of his bravery in Australia lives today
As game as Ned Kelly is a well known Aussie quote
The leader of the Kelly gang remains as one of note.
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‘Christened’

We started thinking seven months before
About your name, from heroes or from folklore
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Ex-love
congratulations,
Enumerate my core.
Colonial colonization's
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Varsity it was of rare renown,
Of wards well-grounded, never kept down,
Where wordy nerdy wise
Seldom would win a prize,
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This fairy woman of Ireland, set in history to be forthwith.
Messenger of death, is part of our folklore and myth
There are many tales of her sorrowful sound and sad cry
The wailing lament of the Banshee sigh
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Out in the deep dark depths,
Swim monsters beyond comprehension.
They sit around drinking meths,
Honing their perception.
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Lakes do not happen
Only in geography.
I know one with a Japanese garden
And a limited zoo; it is surrounded
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Oh, how I love to go back
A hundred years or more
When my ancestors lived
Reliving famous folklore
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Sitting down on a bench outside my residence,
I could see the stars far away in heaven;
And, it seems to me like,
The stars are spelling out my name.
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The warming of the sun,
A loving summer with hard work!
To greet you in the name of love;
Folklore, mythology and symbols.
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Her name was oxygen, short form O-2
she was just floating there, above the lake
when something thin and wearing just one shoe
by name of hydrogen, a common flake
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He's still
The child
Trapped
In an
...

Mr Lecter's Pies are the most tastiest in the land,
Customers travelling miles to eat one out of hand.
So crammed with succulent sweetmeats bursting to overflowing,
His hungry clientele never suspect what his dark mind is knowing.
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Before you turn around, St. Patricks
day, will be ascending upon us. The
tradition, is wearing something in
green. Not wanting to break with
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Life is living the sunset rays
Or remaining awake on a starless night
Dreaming of blue gold days
Keeping nightmares out of sight!
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She scratches the oranges then smells the peel,
presses an avocado just enough to judge its ripeness,
polishes the Macintoshes searching for bruises.
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Dance forms of indigenous people
The simplicity of dance forms
The peculiar steps and movements
Part of folk dance we respects.
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Fleas dream of buying themselves a dog, and nobodies dream
of escaping poverty: that one magical day good luck will
suddenly rain down on them- will rain down in buckets. But
good luck doesn't even fall in a fine drizzle, no matter
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(1)

Won't you listen in my garden
to the tapping dancing feet
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18th September 1994

It’s eleven years now
Since I last saw your face.
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Twilight is here and the sun departs with calming beauty
Children bid it farewell with such joy and delight
That emit feelings of nostalgia from elderly onlookers
As their goodbye songs travel beyound the great lake
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Stay with me for a while...(Kucch dair hamarey saath raho)
1- Let some of your colors sprinkle around......................................(Kucch apney rung bikharney do)
2- Animate the world with some of your fragrance.............. (Kucch apni khushboo bikhra'o)
3- And in a sweet dewy accent............................................................. (aur sheereen shabnami lehjey mein)
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A long time ago and far away
Or maybe here just yesterday
They looked across lands cold back
Where dangers lurk in forests black
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She, dark, sleek, beautiful, vigilant, cautious, cold,
sensual, silently slithering through the brush
as if in deep trance...
listening with each fiver, trusting nothing but
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Under the amber sky she flows as far as the sea
her bank on the other side is shrunk as eye can see
I have seen joys rise like tide tears mingle in hers
she is Ganga the one river mother of all rivers.
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At times I, like a butterfly,
May flit from bloom to bloom,
Or with my whimsy set sky-high
To outer space may zoom.
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Punished by the gods, Sisyphus toils hard to push
the heavy rock up the hill. Unfortunately, every time
when he reaches the top, the bulky boulder rolls down.
So he must repeat the task again and again
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...

Each & every muddy brick
And the wooden planks of their house
Whisper about the courageous parents
And the cottage comes up gradually.
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Folklore stories and the things we do for love!
With tales by moonlight to put us to sleep;
However, you are still the one on this love,
You are always on my mind.
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...

River Thejaswini
Ever you are great
The village people likes
The urban people looks
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Right now as we slowly rotate to heavens accord
I find peace within your stare
wise words that go unspoken
as I yearn to hear more
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After a gap of thirty four years
I went to my home village to settle there
Hoping to get the consideration of my childhood
And also the birth place and hoping the friendship
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To talk of the northeast of India is to talk of the indigeous,
Indigeneous people and indigenous culture,
Tribal and aboriginal
With a diversity,
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(limerick) Intro To A Tom Swifty# 608

I remember 'The Arkansas Traveller'
Bob Burns.. the folklore unraveller
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MANIPULATIONS OF SINGERS
Poet Chan Mongol
September 15 of 2019
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- My stella - - 16

My damsel
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for M.G.
Word is praise for Marina, up past 3: 00 a.m. the night before her flight, preparing and packing the platos tradicionales she's now heating up in the oven while the tortillas steam like full moons on the stovetop. Dish by dish she tries to recreate Mexico in her son's New England kitchen, taste-testing el mole from the pot,
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Girl of the city

What do you see in the girl of the city?
Melodious intelligence or a riding scooty
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O' how lovely is true love's kiss?
Whose rosy wine cup lips implore
men's hearts into an eternal abyss
sacrificing their souls for-ever-more
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That day on in sustain unknowns
Coming home - sand between toes
She to me became a sea-witch.
With bags of cheese sandwiches
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Krampus is a creature from hell,
Horns and fangs and smelly dark fur,
Carries a stick and clangs a bell,
Seasonal bad Santa for sure.
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Mystical, ritualistic and folklore dances
Peculiar dance forms of Kerala, India
Theyyam the folklore, ritualistic art
The dance forms in perfect steps
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I know I did not imagine seeing them,
I see them every Saint Patrick's Day,
But when I try to confer with them
They always seem to scurry away.
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A beautiful moment, a distant dream
I don't even know what to call you today.
A ghost of my past that's fading fast;
Or a flickering light that's giving away.
...

I looked outside and saw her playing in the garden
She looked so pretty, my heart cartwheeled
Pink ribbons adorned her dark brown curls
I waved hello; she beamed a smile.
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1.Carousel

A birlin meal is ordnar in Beijing
The carousel is stapped wi bowls o rice
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I am a venereal sore in the private part of language.
The living spirit looking out
of hundreds of thousands of sad, pitiful eyes
Has shaken me.
I am broken by the revolt exploding inside me.
There's no moonlight anywhere;
There's no water anywhere.
A rabid fox is tearing off my flesh with its teeth;
And a terrible venom-like cruelty
Spreads out from my monkey-bone.

Release me from my infernal identity.
Let me fall in love with these stars.
A flowering violet has begun to crawl towards horizons.
An oasis is welling up on a cracked face.
A cyclone is swirling in irreducible vulvas.
A cat has commenced combing the hairs of agony.
The night has created space for my rage.
A stray dog has started dancing in the window's eye.
The beak of an ostrich has begun to break open junk.
An Egyptian carrot is starting to savour physical reality.
A poem is arousing a corpse from its grave.
The doors of the self are being swiftly slammed shut.
There's a current of blood flowing through all pronouns now.
My day is rising beyond the wall of grammar.
God's shit falls on the bed of creation.
Pain and roti are being roasted in the same tandoor's fire.
The flame of the clothless dwells in mythologies and folklore.
The rock of whoring is meeting live roots;
A sigh is standing up on lame legs;
Satan has started drumming the long hollowness.
A young green leaf is beginning to swing at the door of desire.
Frustration's corpse is being sewn up.
A psychopathic muse is giving a shove to the statue of eternity.
Dust begins to peel armour.
The turban of darkness is coming off.
You, open your eyes: all these are old words.
The creek is getting filled with a rising tide;
Breakers are touching the shoreline.

Yet, a venom-like cruelty spreads out from my monkey-bone.

It's clear and limpid: like the waters of the Narmada river.
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You say
We're friends.

Just one thing
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Boundless yellow cups are shining
Upon the luscious meadow grass.
Beneath the feet of playful children
Telling fortunes as they pass...
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Fairies elves and pixies
heed our little song;
o'er hill and dale
we search for you
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Come to the land of beauty to taste my love,
For there is a special creamy milk set for you to taste;
Come to the land of love to taste the true meaning of my love,
For there you will meet the beautiful young ladies!
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CORDILLERA TREASURS
Melvin Banggollay
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In January in nineteen twenty one more than eighty years ago
When the hills of Duhallow and Sliabh Luachra wore their white hats of snow
Near the Cork border in east Kerry Sean Moylan and his freedom fighting men
Shot to death a Tan Soldier and an R I C commander at Tureengarriffe glen.
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The poems of Banjo Paterson will live forever more
They have become quite famous beyond Australia's shore
The author of The Man from Snowy River and Clancy of the Overflow
He passed on in his seventies more than sixty ago.
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An hour past noon,
Fingers itching from the caffeine,
Gun in the bottom drawer with the bullets,
But there isn’t going to be a fight.
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This is very exciting- this is another night swallowed
Without wondering where all of the conquistadors
Have gone,
But back to their shallow estuaries and nurseries where
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So you start up by pulling some machines by the rope
Around their necks.
And the lawns get mowed, while I am sure that I can fall in
Love with just about anyone as long as they are long hipped
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The fragility of love

Only angels and butterflies should write love poems.
When elephants, giraffes and gruff sailors try to,
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I live in a world of mist words
cause beauty music therein lives
in ancient Celtic ancestry of mindsong
history runs within fibre of being
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An ocean path defines this night's dark trust;
reminds time's falsities - keeps me awake;
the brines engulf me again - same sleepless past,
with demons transferring that route's mistakes
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There were schools for open education
Where age was no a bar
The wonderful schooling they made
The elder ones came and studied
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Nascent Poetry- 8- Am Sleeping-dr.k.g.balakrishnan kandangath -from Kattoor

Am Sleeping-dr.k.g.balakrishnan-Nascent Poetry-12-5-2014
==========================================
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Do you, of the fine Sunday evening's moment
When the nurse, wrapped you in tiny blanket
You were just born, the last day of February
Your mommy still recovering from delivery?
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Indestructible, for Johnny Cash
by Michael R. Burch

What is a mountain, but stone?
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Across the green pasture, I hear,
that tinkling sound,
that I hear coming from far.
With the rhythmic sound, it starts
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The great Algonquin park,
lush forest of great unknowns,
the secrets that lie in her shadows,
and mystery that have found home.
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Sagittarius, the archer of lore.
With a personality you will adore.
Philosopher, explorer, open of mind.
Half-horse, half-man, a rare kind.
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Why do I cry?
Why do people lie?
Why are these scars on my wrists?
Why can't me and happiness coexist?
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(dedicated to Mr. Jean-Yves Thibaudet, a great pianist)

drama
volatile
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(dedicated to Mr. Nikolaj Znaider, a great violinist)

almond trees are blossoming
and crocuses which bloom
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When The Vampires Sucked Blood

The 1800's when vampires ruled the world
Sucking blood and stealing love
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Ancient Greece a north eastern Mediterranean civilization
A society known as the Greek dark ages
Time going in historical stages
Starting from 12th to 9th centuries BC
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In the green valley
Near lake blue and pink salmon
Lived a huldra
Beautiful in human eyes
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A portrait of emptiness

I got a book sent from a Sunday paper it is in written
Portuguese and tries to tell the story of a man who -
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Clootie Tree
Clootie tree, clootie tree, hingin wi wishes
Preened there bi fowk like a sea-fu o fishes
Gie me a cat wi a wee siller bell
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Mr Dahl the Seannachie
Mr Dahl wis a screiver o regular habits
He ett toast in bed fin he opened his post
At ten thirty he wauked tae his shed in the gairden
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It was at the dance floor
under the Neelsie,
where I saw her sokkie
and every movement
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Great Abbotsford wis Scott's Conundrum Castle
A happenstance o mortar, lime an stane
Biggt in the lea o eildritch Eildon Hills
On Clarty hole, founs o the Baron's hame
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In The Bazaars of Hyderabad
Owersett in Scots from a poem by Sarojini Naidu

Fit dae ye sell, O venders?
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Little Dragon Grand-daughter
The mythical fire-breathing dragon, one of the four holy animals in Vietnamese folklore and legends, has a very significant place in the country's culture. According to legend, the Vietnamese are descendants of the dragon

My little dragon grand-daughter
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HYPING THE HURRICANE

I was alive when they were hyping the hurricane
while in the shadows of small riverbank towns
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the year of our enchantment in the provinces...
this is a folk tale you may recognize on
lacquerware or stenciled on trays
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