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Best Idiom Poems

Below are the all-time best Idiom poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of idiom poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Idiom Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Idiom poems are below this new poems list.

Frozen Like A Baked Alaska for Idiom contest by Rose, Mystic
The life saving idiom by Troutman, Tanis
Idiom - small listening devices by Dom, Michael
Regretful Infidelity idiom by Mawu, Amanda
The Idiom and the Oddity Part7 Fina by Curtis, Jerry T
The Idiom and the Oddity The King's Song by Curtis, Jerry T
The Idiom and the Oddity Part 6 by Curtis, Jerry T
The Idiom and the Oddity Part 5 by Curtis, Jerry T
The Idiom and the Oddity Part 4 by Curtis, Jerry T
The Idiom and the Oddity Part 3 by Curtis, Jerry T

View all new Idiom Poems

The Best Idiom Poems

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Write !

Write !


Some madness banter of insanity
is pulling at my thoughts
spilling effulgent
in giant verbs and huge marching nouns
collecting snippets as it walks
stomping on flowers
and mushing liquid the paints of images
swirls captivated
with great toed boots

I can hear it coming
a hefty heavy steady stamp
and I am almost afraid that it might rack me
hit me hard
and demand some elucidated expression from me
I would shudder
but excitement won't let me

Instead it sets me to a creaking ball points
and tiny alphabets that strain my eyes
while spelling out its diffident request

Write it says

Write, while some half cold sickness grip my stomach
and I wretch on grammar
and thus the great feathers quill
dips in the ink of my soul
and so ineptly scribbles epilepsy
explanation, image, wordage, spillage of sensory lobotomy  
partridge in a god-damn pear tree 

Curl about my finger
and reek havoc through those dictionary brain cells
yer! smash them brain cells
mush, mash and squeeze the last drip
find expression in the gooey lumps that are left

WRITE ! god dam it !
Be succinct, be poetic
surpassing idiom and useless language
for Christ sake just WRITE it !

Pilloried on my own sheets of paper
by my own pen
because it never catches enough
as it twist this origami of words 
i-n-t-o  s-o-m-e-t-h-i-n-g
I want to express
I need
I want
To etch with you
A moment of perfection

I need your voices
I need to hear you sing my poets
I need these scratching and scathing claws
and I need your delicate dance
I need something to end this misery
and I need this piquant
this ever enlightened soul search of words
to wrap up this bundle of love

And toss me nonchalant into eternity

Lest some madness of bantered insanity

Takes hold of me


Copyright © colin mitchell williams | Year Posted 2009

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Get Yourself a Big Black Cat to Cancel Out Bad Luck

If there should be a pot hole as deep as Satan’s pit appearing as I’m driving, I’d run right over it! My husband’s luck is worse than mine, but we’re a package deal. So every bad thing that befalls him, I can also feel! One day I lost my best cat ever; needing a new pet, I looked and looked to find a cat, the best that I could get. One person getting desperate with no new owner found was feeling sad he’d have to take his poor cat to the pound. His cat , though not a lap cat, was pretty, sleek and black. The guy was leaving town; there’d be no way to give her back! I like to look to numbers for the logic that they show. Two negatives makes positive; that’s one true fact I know! So if a person has bad luck, it stands to reason that perhaps his bad luck could reverse by having a black cat!! I got that cat! She loudly purrs, which I find comforting It’s like my mom is right nearby with lullabies to sing. The cat’s my charm when in my arms; my luck has turned around, for she’s become the second best of cats I ever found! So if with many problems you’re always getting stuck, just get yourself a big black cat to cancel out bad luck! For the Create an Idiom Contest of Jesse Day (For those who don't know about this contest, the title is an idiom I made up for this poem)


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016

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Echo

My Echo you repeat my every word. Like my shadow if you could take form you would emulate my every move. The boom of my voice is heard in your noise. The Sound’s I make can be reverberated in your tongue. My Mirror Voice. You Mirror my vibrations. My Song you Shall Resonate in your head through My Ricocheting Whisper’s. Reaffirm My position’s that I State in My speech. And Affirmate my Goals in mine Poem. Speak The word’s I utter. Talk With a endorsement of MI HI Rata-tat-tat. Rebound the rhythmic pattern of my musical pulse. Pattern they self After My beat. Mimic The text that comes from my


Aperture. Reply using the same parroting pronouncement. Say the verbalization as a means to communicate in a mocking manner My Formulation‘s. Express in a clone like way the discussion I emitted. Transmit the answer to my speculation. Gossip in a recap like restatement of my decree. Avowal the Testimony of my Declaration line for line. Sing the Lyrics of my estuary. Phrase My Opine in your own Intone. Preach My civil Rants in your Own Discourse. Lecture The Sermon I Contrived. Orate The Report I Fabricated. Spin a lie I Concocted from my Gateway. Hold Forth My Designed Oration. Account my Dreamt Up Rejoinder. Narrate My Command in a Echo. You are My Echo Forever a Homily of my Facilitation of libretto. The Stanza you shall dissertate Will be Hypothetically a Optimization and Embodiment, of my Announcement. Show through your versification my pretend Address. I can continue to Surmise falsified Common place trite’s Which you can Plagiarize in such a replicated Duplication and Carbon Copy of my Idiom. The Dialect you Twin in your Reproduction Mechanism.

I Vow with my Blood to Let you Reduce my spoken lexicon into Mass Production. The Prophecy that is in my Psalms you placed into your Synthesizer to Build a Perfect Reprint. Finish your Assessment of my jargon and Yatter a facsimile of the limerick I have concluded in a

jocund like manner. Counterfeit my inflection using every known vocab in your diction. Epitomize in every manner my orotund Divinations. Devise a summation that is a Consecration of my simple Proclamation.


Copyright © Della Vossa | Year Posted 2014

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Love Letter



I am amazed by the power of you words,
They seep through my skin
Like ink’s aphrodisiac,
And I feel powerless to stop them,
The mere thought of your hands
Touching me makes
Atoms explode inside my chest,
As if a universe is being born,
A light sweat glistens over my form
As my eyes devour every syllable,
My heart beats to the tune you write,
With quickened breath 
I feel it consuming me,
This sexual fantasy wax lyrical,
I fail, not miserably but excitedly
To control my minds dirty idiom,
Where do the thoughts of lust go?
I feel them cling to me
Begging to be made manifest,
Tonight your pen is my phallic pleasure,
Take me and make me your muse.


Copyright © Paula Lelitte | Year Posted 2010

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''Making A Gem Out Of Garbage''


I gather up each word, each thrown away,
putting my poetry back together;
words "thrown" to wither and decay,
     this garbage- I love forever.
       My poems called worthless,
       my poems so breathless;
       poems never-   wordless,
                  making a gem out of garbage;
        is my endeavor.
          My pen will bleed with my dark surrender,
writing my poems like a rose bouquet;
praying this sad pain will leave someday,
I gather up each word, each thrown away;
                and weep- making a gem out of garbage.


______________________
July 25, 2016

Verse Rhyme


For the contest, Create An Idiom 
sponsor, Jessie Day

First Place


Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2016

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HE'S AS SHY AS A SLOTH IN A CHERRY TREE

Sidney sloth was so very very shy He’d hide in the treetops way up high Hanging upside down so no one could see He’d painted his toes red like a ripe cherry Sidney hid in the tree so silently High in the branches where no one could see But soon Sidney discovered a major snag Ripe cherries were being picked and put in a bag The cherry picker pulled at one of Sidney’s toes Sidney was no longer in a state of sweet repose! Wanting to maintain his privacy Sidney climbed to the top of the tree Soon autumn came and the leaves she did thieve Forcing poor Sidney to hurriedly leave Sidney sought sanctuary in a local zoo Now he can’t be seen by me or you! Fun write inspired by the idiom contest 07~29~16 New or Old 3 contest Sponsored by Eve Roper


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016

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HE EXPLODED LIKE A PRESSURE COOKER

THE IDIOM I MADE UP IS - HE EXPLODED LIKE A PRESSURE COOKER My son has returned to our home He’s mouthy and just loves to moan Now nothing is right We constantly fight He’s like a dog missing its bone! His wife was once such a good looker Her red lips she just loved to pucker After botox and filler She looked like a gorilla ... He exploded like a pressure cooker! The tension between us is rife I’m his mum and not his ex wife But his reaction is mean Shouting, letting off steam She left him because of this strife! Create an idiom contest Sponsored by Jesse Day TOTAL FICTION WRITE! 07~28~16


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016

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Stoking the Embers Of A Memory

There was something called grief
that scented the smoke
as we circled to warm
our hands and our feet

While a campfire burned
weighted words in the dark
spoke of babes in the woods
who were lost and afraid

Lyrics drifted through trees
like ghost feathers of ash
Dad strumming guitar
long into the night

Sweeping into the pines, 
that wept in the wind
sieved from the stream of a far away land

His song disappeared, of the robins that lay
green strawberry leaves to cover the graves...

Words wandered away, and then our bedtime would come
and the darkness consumed .....a song that is gone
 
Yet, still guiding my dreams of loneliness home
        and stoking the embers of a memory's moon


__________________________
7/26/16
  
Resubmitted for contest sponsored by Laura Loo
(Based on an old folk son, 'Babes In The Woods", my Dad used to sing to me)

My Idiom ---"Stoking the embers of a memory"
Originally written for Idiom Contest. 


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2016

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EVERY CLOUD HAS A SILVER LINING



                                Every cloud has a silver lining
                             in dark there's light no need to fear
                              if patience's kept living righteously 
                               bad days become good luck dear 

                               When Sun sets brings then dark
                             after passing time light comes again 
                               it doesn't mean that light's forever
                             in life there's both happiness and pain 

                                in despair hold conscience strong 
                               think positive will happen very near
                                  go ahead on with true courage 
                               see everything bad has gone clear        


                               For Create an Idiom - Poetry Contest
                               Sponsored by: Jesse Day

                   



Copyright © CLOUDY POET BL | Year Posted 2016

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The Ballad of Connie Marcum Wong

An idiom by which she's always stuck
is 'having one's head buried in a book'
The truth behind it, she was unprepared
that morning as she went to climb the stairs.
Stopping to lift a bottle, bad mistake
especially when one isn't quite awake
her balance gone, could not control herself
now plunging headlong into the book shelf.
Bruised head, bruised knees,bruised pride was quite enough,
thankfully, make-up would disguise the scuffs.
But then she only went and made it worse
by saying that it would make a good verse.

Hopefully next time she will be wiser
and not tell me, but tell 'Trip Advisor'

29th August 2016
With love, Connie, from Viv x


Copyright © Viv Wigley | Year Posted 2016

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A Greased Eel In A Vat of Astroglide

Slipperier than a Greased Eel In a Vat of Astroglide
That Hillary’s sociopathic streak is a mile wide
In case you haven’t noticed, the fix is in
But her followers love her even if she’s guilty as sin
We all think she should be a woman of greater convictions 
Both moral and criminal, given her total lack of friction
She’s got a layer of Teflon thicker than Gotti
And to the Secret Service, a mouth full of potty
She looks crookeder than even a barrel of snakes will
Phonier than A William Jefferson Clinton three dollar bill

7/24/16
© By Author
For Contest: Create An Idiom
Sponsor: Jesse Day


Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016

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Two Hand Clap

I've got a fist full of Buddha,
And a fist full of Rand,
A pocket full of Jesus,
And the other's filled with sand,
That's in case I need to make some glass,
As it will proceed my foot in relation to your class,
That's a diametric description of an uncommon process,
I use it to repel obnoxious thoughts and logic,
The political storm seems to be the hot topic,
But what I see is dinosaurs in power,
Who don't want to get off it,
The ball, you dropped it,
Gigs up, you lost it,
Wings done, let's sauce 'em,
Awareness has blossomed,
We done playing possum,
You're boss, we want him,
Bring him down to the bottom,
And let's make him aware of our consciousness.

Are you really missing this?
Yo this is Excentrix,
Rich's psyche been known to split in an instant,
I represent a hulk like samurai witch,
Equipped to solve problems via the switch,
Cuz the man inside there is just a little kid,
See I tell the truth even when I lie,
Puttin' juice in busted axioms like Pie in the Sky,
"Yo dude, you know that's an idiom?"
Suck it, you're an idiot,
Guards, get rid of him!
I'm a linguistic mystic,
Suffering from a transpiritual sickness,
Where I'll always be a kid,
And live through my own deliverance.

Witness as I stab my own body of Christ,
Feels so nice to bleed emotion into the night,
With Excentrix as my weapon of my own conception,
I can justify intervention into the seas of deception,
Cleverly apply art to the lesson,
Of respecting yourself and recognizing transgression,
I don't need a stinking studio session,
Just flex my pen and in the end I'm winning,
My mental digestion invents a feeling,
That feeling going to climb me to the top of nimbus,
Behind us is a portal to another dimension,
Forgot to mention I'm the medium for the transmission,
I must be the exception because I'm good at listening.

I flip furniture when pressured,
Then turn a lecture,
Into a story told next to a lectern,
No disrespect sir,
But I'm disturbed by your indiscretion,
So curb your enthusiasm,
Before I burn this whole place down with plasma,
I got the EMP flow I brought back from the Matrix,
Excentrix is MVP for knowing when to go back to the basics,
Take it from me,
The artistic process is worth taking a stab at,
Just to prove that we're all humans,
And American Celebrity is mostly a magic act.


Copyright © Rich Metzger | Year Posted 2016

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The Idiom Of Love

I was drinking wine
I was making minds mine
I was turning keys
I was setting people free
I was being deceived 
By the silent side of me

I was welcomed home
I was gone away
I was free to roam
I was told to stay
I was being confused
By the soul that I had used

I was flying by
I was flying high
I was never questioned why
I was prepared to die
I was beautified
By the ugly side of life

I was crying tears
I was drowning in my fears
I was feeling weak
I was releasing my years
I was afraid to peak
Afraid to get near

I was smart enough to be a step ahead
She did more crying than I did
I was strong enough to be brave
She loved enough to be my slave
I was dumb enough to let her go
She was smart enough to lose hope


Copyright © Ryan Wegenast | Year Posted 2011

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Idioms!

An idiom for you
An idiom for me
It’s just an expression,
a message, you see.

Silence is golden.
Trouble comes in three.
Each to his own taste.
The powers that be.

A rock and a hard place.
Bat out of Hell.
A pig in the poke.
The day will tell.

Pedal to the metal.
Pie in the sky.
Over the top.
Apple of my eye.

Pictures paint a thousand words.
They are dropping like flies.
Put your thinking cap on.
Pull the wool over his eyes

Now, I have shed
some knowledge here for all.
Go learn some more idioms and
have yourself a ball!


Copyright © Michael Degenhardt | Year Posted 2008

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LIFE AND DEATH

Many plan to live for ever
But can only try
Death always visits
No matter how hard we cry

Faith in longevity is ill-judged
Life spans vary
Time rolls by
One day we are welcomed 
Another we have to say goodbye

To be distressed about death
Is to want to go on and on
None can out last the end
The biggest question is WHEN

Living and dying are twins 
That cancel out each other
Only one can take the stage
But they are eternal bedfellows

The only truth we know
Is that we who live must die
This is our only steadfast truth
Any other idiom is a lie 

When we are stone cold
That’s when life stops
An obvious statement
That the daily grind of living cannot forget

Three score ten?
That’s a myth from way back then
You are here one minute
And gone the next
All before you live
The life you thought best

Death is here to stay
It outlives the now
It cannot be bribed
It cannot be bargained with
It just takes as it sees fit
Luckily it only comes
After you have lived 



Copyright © evrod samuel | Year Posted 2015

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With You Here In My Life - Poem

With you here in my life:
All enemies seem far away!
No longing have I now to roam!
The world seems like it’s meant for play!
Your aura’s warmth is always home!

God knows this cannot stand:
Illusion hide your heart from me?
Demonic agents Love erase?
Our stars subvert astronomy?
Without us is there even space?

Oh where were you when world began,
And where suppose was I?
And where the bridge that crossed time’s span
In twinkling of an eye?

From dust we’re made, to dust in kind, (1)
From star’s hearts we were blown,
To share Creator’s heart and mind,
It’s all we’ve ever known.

Poet's Note: 
(1)	‘in kind’ – An English idiom. Suppose you are selling eggs, and I am selling bananas. You  give me 3 eggs and I give you 2 bananas in trade. No money changes hands but we both accept that the exchange is a fair one. The sale then is said to have been 'in kind',  i.e., produce for produce.

God gives us the star dust to make our bodies and when our lives are over, we pay it back to him 'in kind.'

MAYBE THE LAST LETTER - POETRY CONTEST

What irony Elly! Every condition of your submission standards is met with this poem. She is 16, a young poet herself, surviver of an accident/attack on her family that killed her mother, father, and younger brother. Car hit by a military truck on a winding narrow road, the car perched on the edge of a cliff, her mother pushed her from the burning car, only to die herself with her husband and son. 

The young girl fell some distance, only to awaken a month later after several surgeries with severe head trauma, having missed her family's funeral. Taken in by accident almost, by a woman who turned out to be her mother' best friend from her school days, in a completely serendipitous reunion (they did not know of each other), the young girl survived another automobile attack/accident escaping with two broken legs after a hit and run injury. 

Then within a month small pox came. And then just weeks later, brain tumors resulting from the original accident have put her life in danger again. She is currently undergoing chemotherapy and has withdrawn from communication with others because she can't bear to think people are feeling sorry for her. Sadly there are those around her as well who say she is bad luck and fear her company! Her name is N**** and she has a poet's heart. She became my honorary Grand-Daughter shortly after her family's accident and and I, her honorary Grand-Pa. I love her with all my heart. She needs all of our prayers. This poem was written the night of her disappearance.  Don't trust the internet right? But for my part, I believe every word of this story is true.



Copyright © Brian Johnston | Year Posted 2014

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Mother of the Earth

I’m the mother of the sprawling expansive earth, 
From the greenest eastern hills to the western shores.
I own all those verdant plantations and their owners;
All the high quarters and the glittering executive doors.

Before the eyes of bubbling presidents opened
I was, and their virgin earthly cries drew my notice
Before the world knew the existence of waves,
The coming of talking toys found my fertile forties.

I’m the mother of the trendy multi-colored world
But I long ago ceased to claim a single thing in it.
They think I need a car and a chauffeur but, No!
I just need them to know I own every earth’s bit.

They think all I need is a dress and a matching scarf.
Of what use is a gown to a mother so full of mirth?
I need the haughty prized models only this to know:
They hold the fleeting beauty but I own the earth.

Their language is the chirruping of restless birds
And the mischievous kids think I ought this to learn,
They will never unravel the hidden wealth of my idiom
That gave them life and prosperity, and wit and fun! 

I used to teach their deaf ears as their frames grew
But they ignored the genuine voice of their true soul,
Until another spoke with a weird tempting voice
And they naively hearkened to a stranger’ call.


Copyright © Hannington Mumo | Year Posted 2015

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The Idiom and the Oddity Part7 Fina

So, as we say in Greece
That’s where I’ll End my story
For the things that happen next
Weren’t made for song of glory

So many Tails, throughout the ages
Have spoke of love and loss
Of  passions and betrayals
The triumphs and the cost

But never was one told
That meant as much to me
To launch a thousand ships
And survived through history

And with every great Greek story
There’s a lesson to be learn
So, I’ll leave you with this message
Now the last page, has been turned 


The moral still stands true
Throughout all time, which passes
Don’t steal a person’s love away
And beware Greeks bare-ing asses 

THEE END                   Authored By Jerry T Curtis 
                                       08/10/2014
                                       The Year of The Horse


Copyright © Jerry T Curtis | Year Posted 2014

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An Introduction: an introduction

Considering how many times I set out to pen a small,
Master piece of art, a gem that might underwrite,
The utter liability of being just that stamp,
Or tramp, or whatever other denomination one might reliably take into use,
To put me in some camp,
By way of classifying the contingent being -me- 
Whose eagerness presently strives to present 
Himself as himself as truthfully as Truth writ large,
In terms, of course, both endearing, flattering and “brutally honest”,
(Which, parenthetically, is what my soon to be deceased ex-step-mother-in-law once Said,
Would be the way she would have to describe some of My more salient character flaws)
To you my reader, my chosen few, my undeniably very few chosen few,
As a being in the here and now,
As living flesh and burning spirit,
As a man of substance and substantial capacity 
To transmit radiant rays of thoughts,
That reside, quite Evidently, 
And in no doubt to some degree by Providence,
Within an interior space- MySpace- where nothing gets elbowed around-
Nor for that matter ever gets liked, commented upon, shared,
Or, even worse, put at risk of going viral-
For this is after all an authentic  space, 
Not a virtual race to create a face,
Nor a terrific place to leave a cyberlinear trace
But a true mental galaxy, 
An individual-wide web of self-associating neurons, 
Where all and everything is self-made and dependent upon Nothing more, 
Than a small light switch which I alone am the master of-

This then will indeed be far from the grandeur of the art I imagined.

Therefore my fair friend
I humbly ask,
With hand on heart,
Notwithstanding those fingers so inclined to be bent and crossed,
And hat in hand 
(That would be the other hand)
For your forgiveness and forbearance
And do solemnly promise to get this little ritual over with
As fast as a cat on a motor scooter- 
Which is an image I kind of like by the way
Because it reminds me of Sally,
The old toothless Steinbeckian woman who lived alone above the basement apartment,
A dank little hole I might add, 
Back in 1992,
Where my ex-wife, now an Artist, used to live in a snotty little town called Westport.
Sally uttered those timely words
With a Cheshirean grin to boot her point home
Because her landlords were kicking her out
Not only for going sour apple on three months rent
But for being a rotten apple to begin with in a part of the world
Where only Golden apples were entitled to reside.
Sally had to get the hell out.
Faster than a cat on a motor scooter.

Oh toothless rootless Sally how I celebrate you!
Hardly a master of your own destiny
You were at least a Masterful speaker
Unlike those marginal creeps,
Mr. and Mrs. Somebodyimportant, 
Whose sharp noses wedged you out 
Of their little cash crop cottage 
And who no doubt live comfortably  
This very day
In some vaulted tomb under Floridian myakka 
While you 
My little friend 
Are but dust in the wind.

With that aside now put aside 
I now commence
To end quickly this brief debriefing 
And by way of Introduction
Will only add the most necessary details to conclude 
What urgently needs to be concluded as rapidly as possible,
Faster even,
To paraphrase our heroine in modern idiom,
Then a cat going global on youtube.  

However,
One important detail to get over with,
A small but relevant 
Fact of the matter,
Is confessional by nature:
I hate introductions because they do 
In fact Matter
Under the unique circumstances
Which with bated breath and increasing alarm
I have come to recognize
As not only necessary
But obligatory
To outline
In a way-
Um…. 
How do I say this?-
That will not only defy
The very conceptual idea 
Of brevity
But defy it in such a way
As to peel its meaning down
To its very atomic anti-structure
Semantically speaking
Which is to say,
Apologetically, 
That brevity in my hands
-Drum roll please-
Is brevity in geological time.

Why you ask?

My reader,
I suffer from nothing less 
Then a syndrome, 
Unique upon this earth-
(Oh wretched wretched earth you are!)
Unique among all earthlings,
(With some note-worthy exceptions among 
Those posturing, lumbering humanoids called writers)
And certainly unique among all rational creatures
(Who Nature by way of de-evolution has so endearingly
Immunized against MyDisease by way of social nurture 
And social constructions that protect humanity’s bloodline from madness),
Called-
In proper taxonomic terms-
“Ican’tstopwritingIcan’tstopwritingIcan’tstopwritingIcan’tstopwritingeizer’s Disease”



Copyright © Yorn Called | Year Posted 2014

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Limerick 4 - we nurses have a saying

 
the lights are on but nobody is home, the confused elderly mumble and roam, at the nursing desk they stand, their minds in another land, no shoes, no clothes, the hair could use a comb. _____________________ May 4, 2015 Limerick The lights are on but nobody is home, is a common idiom, cliché used to describe a person mentally vacant or lacking awareness. For the contest, Dumb and Dumber, Personal Quotes, Sponsor, John Freeman Second Place


Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015

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The Idiom and the Oddity Part 1

I must apologize, This piece is quite lengthy,
but it was inspired by Homer's epic story.
  I hope you like it.

The Idiot and the Oddity    by Jerrius Curtpopolius      
  
Page 1 Troy

Some walls were built to last forever
Some were made to fall
But the one you built between us
Was the strongest of them all

As I stand here on the barren beach
Gazing at you city
I do admit, that what I see 
Is Strong and Grand and Pretty

Why did you take, your love from me
Did I,  not treat you well
Wined and dined, to make you mind
And swear to never tell

But then you left,
And with you took
The love, that filled those halls
Then fled across,  the open sea
To hide behind these walls

How could you touch my hand?
Now void of all affection
And even gaze upon my face
Without a fond reflection

Be it I, behind,  Your walls
And You exposed upon this beach
I would open wide my gates
And inward you beseech   

Page 2

But I,  the fool and you the wise      
Have carried off my love
And I would launch a thousand ships
To free a single dove

Because I can, only Measure
What buys, rents or pays
And never seek,  the pleasure
To consider love that way

So here I stand, outside your wall
Shall this be war between us
Where love once shared, hate now lies bear
For all the Gods have seen us

I bear no shame, for love is madness
And on you,  I cast no curse
For having never loved at all
For me does seem, much worse

It’s sad to think,  that we must clash
And maim the flesh we cherish 
Soon,  some will cry and some will die
But all of us will perish

If I could but, close my eyes 
And leave this lonely shore 
Then say goodbye to my heart
And vow to love no more

Page 3

Then Gods be praised, for it would save                     
A million men or more
Still, another way would save the day
If thou opened up thy door

Still no reply, my ears must lie
For we were close in spirit
Your heart and mine, so intertwined 
I did not have to hear it

The moments come, I see you there
Perched high upon your wall
You hold my heart, within your hand
You really have some gall

You gaze at me,  as if I were
Beneath contempt, a savage
But I am, what I was back then
The victim you did ravage

Now draw your sword and meet thy fate
My harden steel awaits thee
Before we’re done, there’ll be just one
And both of us, be set free

Your gate now opens slowly
As your men rush into line
The stench of Battle thickens
Now your men are facing mine
 
To be continued.............................


Copyright © Jerry T Curtis | Year Posted 2014

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What There Is To Be Said of Home

Dizzied by the whirl of crowds
On sidewalks, seen through windows --
Reflected in mirrored, columned walls --
I drink, I eat, I mull and fret, I yearn,
Little lulled by homely music
Softly playing beneath sonorous
Strains of Spanish
(Beautiful tongue, not yet quite my own,
But now not strange to me --
Not wholly foreign.)
I sneak sidelong glances, I peek, I stare.
And I almost always feign indifference:
A pseudo-cosmopolitan air.
I am quiet and excessively polite,
Not yet knowing how to be rude
In this still stiff idiom.
And, I am ever intensely lonely --
Hungry for a caressing, offhand phrase,
Or only a stray familiar word, hardly heard,
Whispering all there is to say of home.


Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2011

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Growing Up, La - Part 1

- - - Chapter 1: Early Days - - - 

My father was a rich man, la, *
Though schooled in poverty, (1)  
As such he seldom raised his head, 
Displayed humility.
The center of the ‘Dust Bowl' years, 
Just thirty miles from home.
And children, seniors died from this
(Their lungs were clogged with loam) .

A huge tornado struck Woodward, (2)  
Destroying our downtown, 
It, cut a swath near one mile wide, 
Dad fought back, doubled down.(3)  
When storm had cleared, sky was fire red, 
Dad put me in the car, 
But roads were blocked in just three blocks, 
The world become bizarre! 
Barbed wire that penetrated trees, 
Homes cracked like eggs insides, 
Our home had grass blades drove like nails, 
Into its wooden sides.
The biggest storm in history, 
My dad was gone for days, 
Storm victims sleeping on our floor, 
The whole town in a daze.

Dad's rebuilt store, nicest in town, 
Our home ‘across the track, '(4)  
Attended too the poorest school, 
But did not suffer lack.
Appearance was Dad's calling card, 	
No pretense there to see, 
For ‘living too high on the hog, '(5)  
Caused bankers misery.
The school board melted to Mom's charm, 
(Or to her tongue of fire) , 
For with Dad's stature in the town, 
Few dared to risk her ire! 
Good teachers forced to leave rich schools, 
Complained it wasn't fair, 
Till they encountered Sis and I, 
And found that they could care.
That was my mother's legacy, 
And ‘ART' (6)   the air she breathed, 
Though slight she strongly stood her ground, 
Our future she bequeathed.
We did not know the difference, 
Just sometimes things were tough, 
Our clothing did set us apart, 
We always had enough.
There were some very poor kids there, 
The same clothes thru the week, 
Impoverished not just in clothes, 
But that which all men seek.		

I had a bike to ride around, 
Of course it was a Schwinn, 
And almost always home for lunch, 			
For Mom thought we were thin, 
With two desserts at every meal, 
(And Mom was quite a cook.)  
But if you didn't clean your plate, 
From Dad you got a look, 
The waste of food a mortal sin, 
A thump upon the ‘bean, '(7)  
Made every meal traumatic fare, 
And tears a daily scene.
My guess is Dad got worse than me, 
Depression's (8)   oldest child, 
I mourn the innocence he lost, 
That made his wrath seem mild.

Our parent's roles were well defined, 
My dad brought home the bread, 
My mom the joy of hearth and home, 
Dad's entrance met with dread.
My dad did most the punishments, 
But whippings weren't enough, 
We even weren't allowed to cry, 
To show we had the stuff! 
Small wonder romance frightened me, 
(So sure I'd be like him) , 
To challenge violence I feared, 
Chose music over gym.

Brian Johnston
August 20,2014

Poet's Notes: 
An auto-biographical look at family life impacted by both the American Great 
Depression  and the Dust Bowl years (1930-1950)   in the Mid-West, divided into 
Chapters. 
This is a work of love and homage to the courageous and desperate people who 
survived both. I hope that you enjoy it. New Chapters will be released as I complete 
them.

* When I was in the American Peace Corps in Tanzania, East Africa we had a group of 
7 surveying assistants that were always with us in the first year and that we became 
very close to. Their conversation was always sprinkled with 'la' and I thought it was 
kind of cute. Like they might say to me, 'Why don't we stop in this village for some 
food, la.' They used this word kind of like I use the word ‘OK' in casual conversation. 
'You've got food in your teeth, la.' I really enjoyed this idiosyncratic  affectation.

(1)   ‘poverty' - born in 1911, my father was just 19 years  old when ‘The Great 
Depression' hit the US economy. The Dust Bowl began shortly after.
(2)   Woodward, Oklahoma - the town that I grew up in.
(3)   ‘doubled down' - after Dad's business was destroyed completely by the tornado, 
he  doubled his efforts to be successful in Woodward, borrowing heavily from the 
local banks to do so.
(4)   'across the track' or 'wrong side of the tracks' referred to the part of town where 
poor people lived, frequently, but not always, meaning 'colored people' as well. In some 
towns no 'colored people' were allowed to live in the more prosperous 'white only' 
area. Some towns (like Woodward) had no Negros at all. I take that back. One black 
male did have a job shining shoes in the local 'Baker Hotel' but I think his home was 
in the country somewhere (He did not live in town).
(5)   'living too high on the hog' -  an idiom referring to people who have to have the 
most expensive things in life and buy them frequently on credit even though they 
can't really afford them.
(6)   ‘ART' - My mother was a gifted painter and wood carver, but even meals she 
prepared were done artistically. Art was always spelled with capital letters in her life! 
(7)   ‘thump on the bean' - to hit the offending child hard on the head with the 
knuckles of your closed fist.
(8)   'Depression' - Hard times, not mental issues. (Actually works both ways though 
I guess!)   Born the oldest of 3 brothers and one sister, my dad's father worked him 
hard and used a leather shaving strap to whip his boys when he was upset with them 
about anything. Grand Dad Johnston made my father seem like Florence Nightingale. 
I believe that he beat his wife as well (just a guess) .


Copyright © Brian Johnston | Year Posted 2014

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a lifelong learner

sage (is) acumen,
a life force calms = meaningful;
wisdom (is) the idiom.
__________________________|
Scribe January 9, 2015!


Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2016

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TURNING THE PAGE


Your life must have been worthwhile You success is one milestone Turning another facet of life Likens a turning of a book of each page. For every millennium And for every momentum Life after life, page by page Is understood served well a purpose Although its meaning contrive Misleading a mission of life Is just a page worn out of use. You let open a dream Strive for it leave no post mortem All you did must conform To your style and idiom.


Copyright © Dalila Agtani | Year Posted 2012