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Best Name Poems

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Premium Member Poem | Details | Name Poem | |

My Cat

I love my cat.

She has 4 legs 

and a tail 

and nice ears 

and a cute little nose.

She is gray with black stripes.

Her eyes are kinda green

kinda yellow.

I don't know what colour this is?

Her name is Bast.

This is the name of a very pretty cat goddess

who lives where the pyramids grew.

When my cat is happy she purrs.

So do I.

My cat is soft and warm.

My cat likes to eat food.

Right now I am feeding her special food for young cats.

She likes this better than the last stuff.

She eats all day long.

I do too.

If I become fat

or she becomes fat

I will cut down on our food.

My cat also likes to drink water.

So do I.

I got rid of her cat bowls.

Now she uses the same bowls I do.

I think this makes her feel extra special.

When my cat wants to play outside

she meows and scratches at the door.

This is how I know if she wants to play outside.

My cat poops in the neighbour's yard

so I don't have to clean her litter box too much.

I love my cat.

If I was a cat I would marry her.

We could have a honeymoon in the park.

I would dance around

and watch her climb trees.

At night my cat sleeps on top of me.

If she moves around too much

she wakes me up.

This makes me mad.

But she doesn't care.

She just looks at me.

And looks at me.

Then waits for me to fall back asleep

so she can sleep on top of me some more.

But I still love my cat.

Very much.

Even if she makes me mad sometimes.

But only now and then.

She creates far more happiness than anger.

I suppose this is how it is for some married couples?

Cats are great.

I wish more people had a cat like mine

because then everyone else would be happy just like me.

One great big happy world

filled with peaceful thoughts instead of so much pain and war.

I hope she lives a long time.

When she dies I will get another cat

because they are so nice.

And when I die 

I will meet all of my cats

up in heaven.

I love my cat.

And she loves me.

| Details | Name Poem | |

Person of Colour

Person of colour is coherently germane,
He is never insane.

Some things about this person of colour may seem strange,
He is simple and he is yet to engage.

This person of colour loves the critics,
It is from them, he ticks.

This person of colour is natural,
And so, he is not a trial.

This person of colour loves to exchange
Ideas beyond his range.

This person of colour loves keyboard,
Tis with this he comes on board.

This person of colour is a charcoal- a black beauty.
This person of colour is me.

Premium Member Poem | Details | Name Poem | |

Arikara Born

I like many others have lived in our dreams In this world where I lived amongst forests and streams Where the Great Plains stretched and our rivers flowed If you could see through my eyes, how my tribe glowed Born from my mother of Arikara descent My father a Sioux warrior, his stature, augment My growing up was no different than the others around For the learnings that grew from our ancestors surround Hunting and fishing, being told of the dangers in life Cultural indifferences, to fearing tribal strife But it's what my father taught me every single day To learn from our lands for through the years they'd display Tracking, seeking, searching, living from our lands Every year more learned, growing in understand From a boy to a man becoming a warrior through my years Protecting what was ours, allaying modern fears But the changes that we faced, suffocated our souls There was only ever one outcome, other man's goals I like many others, to live and eventually fall Born from Arikara, Sioux, my name was 'Standing Tall' .<*>. A little story from my heart, where the Indigenous will always be.

| Details | Name Poem | |

Love and Lust

I did not mean to snatch your heart
Like with the claw of a vorocious bird of pray
You fell into my unset trap 
Speared yourself upon my harpoon 
Which had only been hanging on the wall
You threw yourself into my way
stole my arrows and brandishing them with cupids blood
Punctured your heart without a thought 
Other than the whisper of my name 
You claim that I'm a siren
I've led you to your death
But it was the birds i sang to 
Your name did not leave my unforgiving lips 
With swollen eyes from crying
Filled with swirling colors of obsession 
You beg to me and plead with me 
Blaming me and cursing me  
Claiming that i drug you here
Forgetting it was you who snuck in through my balcony 
To watch me in the fountains 
And listen to my voice
To see how the animals follow me
And witness how the moon becomes my robes 
And the stars become my eyes
How the setting sun remains all night 
Within the silk of my hair 
how roses color my cheeks 
In the darkness of the cold 
And the world surrounds me 
And the beauty of the light i behold 
Where in this story did i bewitch you 
Where did i make you call my name 
Did i once respond or invite you to play a game
you claim i did this to you 
When you only did it to yourself 
did you enjoy your gaze upon the child of Cerynian
Did you think I'd become your obediant wife 
When did i claim i loved you 
How quickly you think of these blasphemous lies 
Your not in love you simpleminded mortal
Your infatuated and in lust and your lust is a lie

| Details | Name Poem | |

The Tale of Miss Jenny Prime

Let me tell you the story of Miss Jenny Prime,
who spent all of her days making everything rhyme.
It was thought she’d outgrow this strange childhood spell,
but her fetish just grew and made her parents’ life hell.

When Miss Prime was a baby, still sporting a bib,
each night she was cuddled, then placed in a crib
by her doting young parents, who thought it quite funny
to give her a pet name, “Sleep tight Hunny Bunny.”

And that was the start of poor Jenny’s plight,
forced to listen to vowel chimes night after night.
Before long she was making up rhymes for herself,
all her un-rhyming toys were just left on the shelf.

Even quenching her thirst could cause quite a stink,
no O.J for Jenny, her drink had to be pink.
They bought her some shoes, red, shiny and new,
“I’ve told you, I’m not wearing a shoe that’s not blue”

She demanded a dog so they went to the pound,
she picked the fattest one there, just to have a round hound.
Her bed had to be red, her jeans had to be green,
and a fish dish for dinner or she’d cause a right scene.

Stamping her feet she cried “I should be Jenna,
and for pocket money, I should be getting a tenner”
Each Friday brought tantrums, as she hardly had any,
reluctantly taking just a penny for Jenny.

Her increase in years simply brought more despair,
she bleached ebony locks for she needed fair hair.
The colours of clothes always caused her to cry,
so to get round the problem she learned to tie-dye.

Now I know it will come as some sort of surprise,
but Jenny had caught a young gentleman’s eyes.
He knew things would be tough, but he’d give it a try
so, with posies of roses, he dared to drop by.

The roses were great and he was kinda cute,
he’d even gone to the trouble of tie-dying his suit.
He was called Jack Kilkenny, his name did not rhyme,
so she told him to leave and stop wasting her time.

But Jack was his nickname, his real name was Lenny.
Alas, this information was not known to Jenny.
He was perfect for her, a match better than any,
for if they’d wed they’d be Lenny and Jenny Kilkenny.


Premium Member Poem | Details | Name Poem | |

Yes Friend, It Will Matter

Say not to me,
that it will not matter a hundred years from now,
that I was here.
For surely I have touched one life in a positive way,
perhaps in daily prayer
I've called your name one day.
Having no profound accomplishments or delusions of fame,
and leaving no progeny
to perpetuate my name,
still, it will matter that I was here.
For I have quietly endeavored to sow, and I have watered.
I love and am loved--should one desire more?
Life is good and hopefully God is pleased.
The tracks I'll leave, it's true,
will not be so ingrained as to stand harsh winds of time
and they shall fade as the evening sun,
leaving somewhere, only a name and date chiseled in granite.
Perhaps, if only in thought,
one pausing o'er me should question, who was this man?
Let God simply whisper, that I am His.

| Details | Name Poem | |

These ribbons I tie as you leave

Blue – 
for your arm wrapped around
my clavicle. I thought
I would loose my breath.

Red – 
for the cusp of our hip bones
struggling to pull the drunken color
from our orange cheeks.
and our sweat, our sweat, our sweat
evaporating 
in the drenched summer air.
Our pants futile afterthoughts
Left crumpled on the floor
It is here I asked for your respect
And you filled me with it.


Orange – 
for the musk smell of our blanket den. I would watch the way dawn light
speckled your shoulders, pale, white-blue
Iridium. 
I would trace the ink
of your skin, fingertip hovering a half inch
from your bone. 

Green – 
for how my name would hesitate
on your breath in brief puffs 
like dandelion seeds blown from 
My wistful lips when I was 
eleven 
waiting for them to bring back my wish.

Black – 
for my sleeveless dress, as we strolled from 
your father’s funeral.  

It was the only time I watched you cry.

There were little holes in the cement sidewalk.
They filled with rain, oil
And your tears.
I watched your face change through 
their watery colored reflections.


Pink – 
for the way your skin repels from my 
Touch, quivers as though my finger- 
print were a red hot poker.
You haven’t allowed me to touch you
In a year.

Purple – 
for the color of her font, as she responds to you. It is an eager
Color. She responds with all the passion of an Eskimo kiss. 

You left her waitng..always.

I have been special to you,
she replies to your
overtures.

Her letters 
Who blush
like a maid
Who’s felt the hot moist
whisper of something naughty
tickle against her ear lobe.

White – 
for the way your eyes punch accusations
sharper then your razor tongue.

They spit 
blue crackled lightening,
like an angry alley cat.

My words cannot reach you here.
You will leave.

We will divide our booty

Words that once held my name like a piece
Of carefully folded origami
now hiss cold 
devoid like the plaster of our empty room.

Grey- 
for the morning 
now knocking on my window.

I am livid in my withdrawal, tossing and turning
I can find no comfort
in
the tangle of these vacant sheets. 




| Details | Name Poem | |

Her Name Was Rain - Collaboration with Casarah Nance

Rain, if you were warm I would dance in you, 
I would be like the breeze and whip around you 
Rain, since you are cold I'll stay away from you 
Its such a bummer cause I want to play with you. 

Thoughts of running through the rain with you 
Makes my heart go insane for you 
I'll hold your hand and slow dance with you 
Alone in the grassy meadow just me and you 

What would I give to beat along with you 
Dripping on the tin shed of the roof with you 
Making sweet music on the wind chimes with you 
Wet and soft on a blanket in the fields with you 

Rain, I'd spend the entire night with you 
Enjoying the touch and feel of you 
No looking back when I'm with you 
Rain oh how I would love to dance in you 

Rain how intense is that storm the comes with you 
The thunder and lightening that stays with you 
Its okay because I still want to change with you 
Rain oh how I want to become one with you.

Premium Member Poem | Details | Name Poem | |

Houston we have a problem

"When returning love, becomes to Late"

Fantastic,
From her eyes
His name the name
She mumbles silently 
3 rivers, 3 years, 2 many tears
She loves him endlessly

Sending her soul
A free feeling, 
Finally, he fell
Engaging, equal to the spell
Morning, mountains and more
Move across a new age moon
His heart happily 
Traveling towards hers
Dashing dandy, onto her dinner plate 
Too long she waited, 
She's not hungry, her heart self healed 

3 rivers 3 years 2 late
Her tears faded his rusty name 

SKAT

Premium Member Poem | Details | Name Poem | |

Raven's Sign

Fog settles on the tombstones. In the dark, an eerie blue,
the graveyard is a misty ocean Raven passes through.

She stops. The solitary site is grim, devoid of any sound.
Her long black gown, a ruffled slip, is satin sweeping ground.

Sable locks lie smooth and straight  across her graceful back.
Stark contrast is her alabaster skin to hair pitch-black.

This woman - with a beauty that always captivates -
now stands, a pistol in her hand, and there steadfastly waits.

Told the man that she adores (who left some time ago)
lies buried here, the woman’s come, for Raven has to know!

She can’t believe that he could be here in this place of doom.
He’d left for war before they’d barely been a bride and groom.

Raven looks out on the sea of mist; her eyes have teared
because those birds that bear her name have suddenly appeared.

A sign it has to be, she thinks. The ravens drawing near
are circling above one stone. Her heart is seized with fear.

Raven walks to where the birds are circling above.
She pales. . . The stone she’s reading bears the name of her true love.

The fog, a sea engulfing all, has swallowed Raven too.
Gun raised, she drops down to his grave; she knows what she must do.

Andrea Dietrich

Inspired by the Contest "Among the Dead"
Sponsored by Constance ~ A Rambling Poet ~


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