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Best Idiom Poems

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New Idiom Poems

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

The life saving idiom by Troutman, Tanis
Separate Sheep From Goats-Idiom by Sutherland, Marti
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

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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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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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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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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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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.'


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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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 
                                       The Year of The Horse

Copyright © Jerry T Curtis | 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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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.  

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-
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,
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),
In proper taxonomic terms-
“Ican’tstopwritingIcan’tstopwritingIcan’tstopwritingIcan’tstopwritingeizer’s Disease”

Copyright © Yorn Called | Year Posted 2014

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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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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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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 
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 

* 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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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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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

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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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All Smiles

I dedicate this to Jazmine

You can see her smile
from across the land
it's a bright smile
a wide smile,
a smile at me
When i see it
I calm down (idiom)
She stands on shelves
to be higher up
because i want her there
because she is my north star.
she wants to be a writer
and i know
she will not only succeed
but she will be the greatest.
And she will travel the world
Writing with her chewed upon pen
and writing on a smooth fresh piece of paper
writing is her passion,
and i am her smile.

Copyright © Jordan Miller | Year Posted 2013

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The Idiom and the Oddity The King's Song

King Menelaus' Song  aka ( Helen's husband )

A Trojan boy, he stole my love
And I know where he’s hidin’
But all I have’s a thousand ships
I need your help Poseidon

I dare not tell a single soul 
But in you I’m confidin’
I want to tear his huge walls down
And stand there right beside him

I hope on me you’re smilin’

I can not live another day
With this pain I’m feelin’
So please let me just have my way
Can’t you see that I am kneelin’

It’s on you waves, I’m ridin’

I know some way, there’ll come a day
I,  with my love abidin’
Until that day, all I can say
I’m glad with me You’re sidin’

You’re the best of all the titans

Copyright © Jerry T Curtis | Year Posted 2014

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WRITTEN FOR DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR. HOLIDAY 2016 (Versified!) As days transpires, better we focus. As life transgress, better our voice. A walk, a talk, a political aspect of religion and righteousness. Via the Founding Fathers we separated church and state. Socio-political and socio-religious are the floodgates. As we remember, tears may drop, Is it the strength we possess that ruminates us? We overcame our struggles and we are abreast to our accomplishments. We are the United States of North America.3 Analysis of our external environment let us know that we are a strong workforce. That we are no more separated by the color of our skin. That our unity is our identity of different nations of human beings. That our mien is our self-image of economy – the” big picture” of demeanor. When we falter, we recoup. We do not assume we will fall from what others do. We are the people of our regions that are vast and wide. We are negotiators of our lives.2 As we celebrate today in our mind-sets, we know what may overwhelm us. This could be how far we have come. Or, it could be how far we will continue to go - to climb the mountains that we must peak - to deplete human suffering from the illness we perceive. That is what is known and all the possibilities. We have witnessed many tragedies from the time of formation to present day. But oh, we can find glory just as well in our beliefs, creeds, and unity.1 Envois is this discourse. Pro-activism edifice verbalized. But to no idiom this loll. We are all part of the same universe. Each has his or her role to play. All are formidable when the goal is stated. May one be easier than the other? May we strive to be a part of the same country? Where we are awe-inspiring but together. That is on the same page. Where our lives are the similarity, and the same is our home front. This is right outside our front door.4 The plight is fought and tomorrow is known!5 _____________________________________________________________| Written January 16, 2016!

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2016

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Idiom: No Love Lost

Love poems, how trite they become.
Their hackneyed themes we want to scream.
We purposely shy away from
That genre, teeming so it seems
With grandiloquent, large supplies
Of conjured words with empty rings
Of cheating hearts and love that dies.
Ad nauseam is all it brings.
We wish just once that we could read
Where love’s expressed differently:
Brand new verses that supersede
Love’s banal themes in poetry.
Love-lost poems are sickening
But most of all they are boring.

Copyright © Albert Ahearn | Year Posted 2010

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One Word

Littered thoughts lay
 crumpled on the floor,
 lips bear the imprint
 of a fingernail.

A single word
 dances at the end
 of my fingertips,
 I scratch paper
 into confetti.

The first stanza
 dares me to
 give it autarky,
 declare its truth
 all its faults
 in every sentence.

This untold idiom
 would usher in
 the torn diaries
 of an undisclosed
 suffering mind.

So I clean my floor
 clench my hands
 and close this
 subject forever.


There is always a
 isn't there.

Copyright © Jayne Eggins | Year Posted 2014

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More Beautiful With Age - Question Mark

More Beautiful With Age?

Do men grow more beautiful ageing?
It may not be fair but seems true,
Some process that’s secretly working
To bring a man’s heart into view.

And women seem openly jealous,
Divining miraculous change,
While counting their wrinkles and skin flaws,
Anticipate worse things downrange.

The male’s role though does have its downsides
Among them are job loss and war,
Through stress we die thirteen years sooner,
And leave behind those we’ve worked for.

But men now approaching their sixties,				
Surrender their need to control,
Their chance to advance almost over,
Priority given to soul.

Resigned more to what they’ve accomplished,
Their life’s reputation in hand,
Find time now to reach out to others,
Permission to live off the land.

But women it seems are less happy,
Still struggling to keep things in check,
Their children successfully launched now,
The mothers still fearing shipwreck.

Perhaps it’s the shock of child leaving,
The change much more sudden than man’s,
A man can wind down expectations,
Has more time to rearrange plans.

Why is there a different stature,
This gap between woman and man?
A woman’s life still gets less credit,
Though BOTH wilt in life’s frying pan.

At times it seems all about money
Is anyone happy with that?
If money is life’s final answer
Oh, let me just die in the fat*

There always are men who are scoundrels,
That doesn’t mean all guys are bad,
And women who pop choc’late bonbons,
To punish a world that’s gone mad.
In virtue there’s always decision,
The wise should be happy with that,
There’s one simple truth you can count on,
‘Not easy,’ is life’s caveat.

Disparity is not an answer,
A shipwreck on rocks of life’s shore.
What value there men can be proud of?
Guys! Our gals should be honored more!

Perhaps there are lessons for both here,
A chance to evaluate loss,
Appreciate gifts that are given,
Remind ourselves God is true Boss!

Brian Johnston
August 24, 2014

Poet’s Notes:
* ‘out of the fat and into the fire’ is an English idiom that implies that in trying to 
escape a little heat (in the fat - responsibility perhaps) one can fall out of the pan and 
wind up directly in the fire (most certainly worse).

Copyright © Brian Johnston | Year Posted 2014

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I Was Born at a Very Early Age - Part 1

"I was born at a very early age",

this, along with many other immortal sayings, from dear ole dad, will always have a way of sneaking into my everyday life. He'd come into the room, unannounced, and lay this idiom on me, "I was born at a very early age". He would give a deep pause afterwards, letting the words truly sink in, as if it were some grand piece of wisdom that should be savored and mulled over. Then of course the laughter would swallow us whole, stealing thirty minutes (at least) of our day, and replacing it with utter nonsense. "How could you NOT be born at a very early age?". Rhetorical, mind you. Lest you want an overtly inflated banter of words let's leave it at that... rhetorical. Some have a dry sense of humor, yes, but this seemed to be the extreme. If it were any drier it might just rival with a Dominoes pizza. And this is about the time when 99% of the population leave the room... leaving dad and I to talk "philosophical". If you're laughing, great, you can stop by anytime. If you're not well... there's the door.

But more than just a terrific sense of humor (in my opinion), he has other qualities worthy of note as well. A love to learn... not just learn in the kindergarten sense (or even the college sense). To THRIVE off of knowledge... to be encompassed into it, to have it be your bread. This sorta never-ending craving for facts and figures is what drives him to hours of perilous typing, in his tucked away office desk. He'd come home, sweaty after hours of working with cabinets, or working on some guy's tub, give an efficient nod to the rest of the fam... and zoom! Off to Information Center (AKA Internet). There wasn't a subject too obscure or to trivial for his ready fingers not to plow away the rest of the night: Geo-engineering, worldwide politics, long and tedious Bible discussions, truth behind Monsanto... you name it. I remember one time, when the Mormon duo came a'knocking on our doorstep. If it was me, my mom, (or really anyone beside pops) we'd give a polite, "No thanks, we're not interested today." But one fateful day it WAS my dad who answered the door... and one thing led to another. I'd come home after work and see a set of three people sitting in the front lawn, two bicycles laid askew as well as two helmets. I'd think to myself he's at it again. And for the next three days dear ole dad would be chatting up a storm with these Mormon folk. One of the pair left still feeling strong in his belief (if not a bit blindly). The other well... it looked as it his world was turned upside down.

To be continued on in part 2 (even with becoming a Member this piece was still a hundred characters over the limit... darn).

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2013

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What words

What words, dear God?
For an idiom 
Or an idea
Of all that this means!

If not then, or when
My soul resounds 
At a silent thought
Lights an eternal flame
Recalled at sacred hearths;

Within quiet chambers
Wounds would heal
Once dealt unwittingly
Now in privacy, thoughts
Wrench relentlessly
At souls adrift
Through time and space;

Words cut at passions denied
Allow this one impression
To swathe us
Dear God, what words?

Copyright © Michael Dom | Year Posted 2013

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The Idiom and the Oddity Part 3

Page 7

We’ll build a wooden structure                                   
With planks torn from our ships
And place it by their gates
Then we wait for the eclipse 

Now I know you all have questions
About how I know these things
But I’ve studied all religions
Foreign Nations, Queens and Kings

Some kingdoms honor Bears
Some worship cats and eagles 
Some lions, tigers, bears, “Oh My” 
Foxes, wolfs and beagles 

Now, these Trojans have one fondness
It stands upon four feet
It feeds upon the grassy plains
And they ride it down their streets

We will build it long and sleek
With a tail tacked to its end
And ears, upon its oblong head
But, with one thing more to send

There, concealed inside its belly
Are those who lie in wait
For the beast to be drawn inside
The Trojan’s massive gates

Page 8

So until the sun starts rising                                        
You men must now embark
And assemble the device
While working in the dark

The others on the beach
A distraction will devise
To keep your labor secret
From those Trojan’s prying eyes

Now off with you, behind that mound
I have a party to attend
It’s not often I can have some fun
At the same time to offend 

( Troy 1184 BC, The Beach Party ) 

The Flames of passion darted up
Into the evening air
It made the glittering of sand
Seamed like stars were everywhere 

The drums had reached a beat
That made the young men, have to dance
And I’m sure it made The Trojans
Lose control and wet their pants

Page  9

While young men danced on burning sands            
Displaying sex appeal
The Greeks would pause and strike a pose
And flex their buns of steel

The Trojans on the wall
Filled with heighten passion soon
Turned their backs and dropped the drawers
Displaying many moons

It seemed as if, we played all night
Now its time to take our chances
Bring forth the horse, and by due course
We all took second glances 

The carpenters that worked all night
Had never seen the beast
It was a horrible interpretation 
That is to say the least

I should have choose an artist
Much more suited for the task
For instead of building a mighty horse
There stood a giant ass.

No time to make corrections for
The dawn was growing near
We must move without detection
And crawl in through its rear

To be continued...................

Copyright © Jerry T Curtis | Year Posted 2014