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Best Poems Written by Jd Maxwell

Below are the all-time best Jd Maxwell poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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The Story of the Pot and the Kettle

Fresh upon the morning grove,
With day becoming hot,
And sitting there upon the stove,
A kettle and a pot.

The kettle blew and lifted high,
And poured into the cup,
With that to see it’s bottom by,
And so the pot spoke up.

“Pardon me to even know,
For I don’t mean to meddle,
But you are all black down below,”
The pot said to the kettle.

For a moment to rebuff,
The kettle answered back,
“I’ve seen your bottom oft enough
And yours is just as black.”

Looking down and much contrite,
The pot did then exclaim,
“It seems that Kettle, you are right,
I guess we’re both the same.”

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The Fine Art of Axe-Throwing

Ever gone to throw an axe?
You’ll love it if you try.
Grip the handle and relax,
Standing firm into your tracks,
Release and let it fly.

Over end, the axe will spin,
And through the air will whisk.
To the target, caged within,
Close to center, you will win,
Like darts with more the risk.

In the target, there are rings,
That circle round the eye.
Each a different point it brings,
When towards the board the axe it zings,
And wedges in the ply.

In the corner, there’s a spot,
Which comes with much acclaim.
Blue, the color of the dot.
If you have a killer shot,
Can help you clinch the game.

When you come, make sure to pack,
No shoes your feet expose.
If the board, it gives a smack,
And the axe comes bouncing back,
Will help to save your toes.

Grab a beer, this social game,
Is just as good as any.
It may even help your aim,
But too much is sure to maim,
So please don’t have too many.

Details | Jd Maxwell Poem

The Grinch Epilogue

The feast was all done,
For Grinch and the Who’s,
 And after the meal,
Came terrible news.

For Max and the Grinch,
And Who’s gathered round,
No one spoke a word,
Or a single Who Sound.

The mayor spoke up,
About our grinch crook,
Of all that he broke,
And all that he took.

“You still did the crimes,
So you’ll be on trial,
For crimes of last night
And all in your file.”

The chief of police,
Had sprung in a-bound,
He handcuffed the grinch,
And took Max to the pound.

So off they all went,
And hightailed to jail.
The grinch stole from all,
So none would bail.

The grinch shared a cell,
With a cat that is said,
Had terrorized kids,
With a hat on his head.

Along with the cat,
Was a small orange beast,
Harassing the ones,
Who’d cut down all the trees.

A few days had past,
With no time to lose,
He went to a judge ,
And a jury of Who’s.

They mounted their case,
Which started to grow.
When grilling the grinch,
From crimes days ago.

Recordings were there,
And prints were abound,
And from the Roast Beast,
DNA had been found.

His lawyer had rested,
No proof to dispense,
As you could expect,
With public defense.

The trial was quick,
And done in no time,
To choose if the grinch,
Should pay for his crime.

The jury came out,
With none of the strife,
While serving the Grinch,
With thirty to life.

So as for the Grinch,
His heart may be greater,
While stealing Christmas,
He paid for it later.

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My Ty Lesson

One day I got up off the john,
And to my desk to work upon.
An hours passed.  I looked around.
To my amazing eyes I found:

My paper took a shade of brown,
All up the page and even down.
My muddy desk, my muddy pen.
My muddy walls, around my den.

Furthermore, my hand it reeks,
For sure to come between my cheeks,
A lesson learned, remember it,
To wash your hands after you .

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Empathy For the Shredder

Masks are all the rage these days,
Not knowing when we’ll stop these ways,
If how long live in your fears, 
I’ve worn a mask for 30 years!

If you care to guess my name,
Here’s a clue- we’re now the same.
And of trends, I am a setter,
For I am known as the Shredder.

Now and then it’s nice to find,
My metal mask to hide behind.
When emotions start to race,
It’s good my Clan can’t see my face.

Both of us, we had no choice,
To stagger from our muffled voice.
Coming from two kindred things,
For rats are bats without the wings.

It sure gets hot under the mask,
But I’m the one that’s up to task,
And despite my taste for crime,
I was a man ahead of time.

I hope it’s now that you can see,
And have some empathy for me,
So don’t be shy and say hello,
Just watch out for those turtles though.

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The Island of Thrown Away Holiday Candy

Past the salad fields of green,
With ciders flowing in between,
An island sits though out a-ways,
Of candy from the holidays.

They’re thrown away and tossed aside,
Without a bite or even tried,
So past the days of fresher primes,
They cry about forgotten times.

The candy corn all in a heap,
Continue on to slowly weep,
Passed over for a candy bar,
To sit untouched inside a jar.

And next to them, the tootsie rolls,
Were pushed aside in candy bowls,
They sob next to the candy canes,
Who watched alone the Christmas trains.

Just look who’s sitting by the docks,
A full but lonely chocolate box,
Who never shared dessert with wine,
Or eaten by a Valentine.

The hollowed bunnies hop around,
The jelly beans upon the ground,
But stuck among a larger mass,
Of artificial Easter grass.

They weep and think about the day,
And time that they were thrown away,
As now it’s here they sadly roam,
Their misfit candy island home.

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The Snowy Road

A time ago,
After it snowed,
My friend forebode,
A certain road,
The shortest way to go.

Yet I was slowed,
So on this night,
The moon was bright,
I took a right,
And went on down the road.

And to my sight,
I could defend,
Against my friend,
But would depend,
On if the end was bright.

But at the bend,
I saw it close,
And so it goes,
The road I chose,
Was dead upon the end.

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Time For Me

Busy me, the time is rare,
When I can make myself aware,
To take a breath in this lagoon,
And finding time that’s opportune,
Even the little I can spare,

I swim around from place to place,
Fast I go, as if to race.
Sometimes I am not aware,
Of when I should come up for air,
And go unto a slower pace.

Getting out so not to prune,
I should not enter back so soon,
As heavy as the stress can be,
And I think those would agree,
That even I am not immune.

So I don’t drift on out to sea,
I must think it consciously,
And if I find that is the case,
All the ways I will embrace,
The times for me to be with me.

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Starting Over

Starting over, nothing more.
Search the path that you explore.
Learn the things that put you there.
Remember how you went before.

The chosen path may not be fair,
And side-to-side cannot compare,
Make your own; stay on the trail.
Don’t turn around in great despair.

And when you live to tell the tale,
You’ll see desire shall not fail,
Live and learn and don’t ignore,
And all your life you shall prevail.

Details | Jd Maxwell Poem

Don'T Hate the Player

Of when I play a game,
That most are prone to play,
We, players have the same,
Intent to win the day.

Sometimes the game is fun,
The rules are fair and just,
We win the game as one,
And feel a sense of trust.

But then we have those days,
The game will take it’s toll,
To filter through the haze,
That lurks within our soul.

Some quit upon the learn,
Of how the game is played,
But whom of us will earn,
Of those of us who stayed?

The time that I begin,
I try to see it through,
And find a way to win,
Whatever I can do.

To strive without a care,
And use whatever tools,
Though maybe not as fair,
But still within the rules.

Don’t like the things you see?
Go toss away your blame.
Don’t go on hating me,
For I just play the game.