Best Alternates Poems
In my heart I've always loved you
Always thought you good and kind
Though I know you do not know me
Know you're always on my mind
Nights of darkness pass unbroken
By your smile and gentle ways
How I wish that you were present
Here beside me all my days
Light or darkness, rain or shadow
Thoughts of you are light to me
Now I pray that as you read this
Thoughts of me would kindly be
I would be your slave forever
Just to bring a smile or two
Have you walking life beside me
All your blest commands to do
How I hope that you will greet me
Pray you'll see my desp'rate case
Should you not, my heart would founder
Longing for your smiling face
About this poem: It is trochaic, meaning that it starts with a stressed syllable and alternates between a stressed and unstressed the whole way through. The syllable count is 8.7.8.7. Although I wrote this from the viewpoint of a man, it could be read either way.
The left blame the right, the right blame the left,
both concealed in ideology logically lost on me.
It's not that I don't understand, there's no one with which I stand,
both succeed in ways necessary then turn sour though a good recipe.
The point and blame at those with fame game stays the same,
.....somewhat lame.
All I've learnt from this,
is they've no alternatives,
so take turns in bliss
and ignorance lives.
And as the system alternates,
between political counterweights,
with opposing views on politics,
all I think is bollocks to this.
Basic geometry’s based on four axioms,
Something that many kids study in school,
But a fifth axiom’s needed to prove it all,
This is where things start in getting real cool.
Really this axiom sounds very theorem like
Many have tried just to prove that it’s so
Math is not science though, stunningly math’s pure thought,
No underpinnings suggest where to go.
Science is tied to the world where we find ourselves
Math seems to find itself on other planes
Yet in creation math finds applications new
Funny how much mathematics explains
Love’s exegesis resists like fifth axiom
Should be much simpler, still it just is
Minds get all blurry when sniffing its trail bizarre
Alternates pop up like girls in show biz.
So if you find yourself stewing in limbo’s pot,
Give her a slide rule for Christmas this year,
Sure to last longer than roses or candy will
Then on Christ’s Birthday buy pizza and beer.
Good which we give ourselves to seems to multiply
Friendship, geometry, love fares the same
Love’s future story line ties us to God’s heart strings
God’s mathematics! Erased is all blame.
Brian Johnston
November 24, 2014
Raised on a rock farm,
Eating blackberries daily,
I grew.
And so did the world.
The bugs were relentless
Except in winter when they slept.
The days were as drifting clouds,
Time for dreaming, unfulfilled.
See the blue up there.
See the green down here,
How it alternates with snow.
To conjure a memory is to be reborn.
Friends, water, sweat,
And always-- books,
For out of books the days take their hue,
As I immerse in magic.
Far places, lonely steps, horses and plows:
The dirt gives its pleasures
and its treasures.
The hills sing at night and rest by day.
The years grow like dandelions;
Soon they are gone.
Yet-- I remain astride the years
While the people grow and fade.
The days are restless under the rod;
And days dwindle,
Moving brightly as a kaleidoscope,
Then dim as a low lantern.
In the final hour, as light flickers,
I stand and shave away the gray stubble
of the years.
You’ve drastically missed your
Philosopher's Stone
Long time ago,
At an ancient past
Since that time
Your face was
Filled with some
Unbearable
Dark rays
Since that time
Your eyes were
Craving for some
Vein alternates
To equate this
Ultimate loss
Since that time
Your heart was
Transformed into
A lightless cave
Since that time
You devilishly swallowed
Countless animals
That come about you
To fill your hunger
He and she
Everybody and everything
On this Universe
Are now engulfed
By your Darkest Rays
.....
.....
Could you wake up,
At any point in time,
And completely erase your
Black facial seams
To make your face
Bright and blissful?
Could you come out
Of your dark and deep cave
And sincerely seek the
Help of the sun
To search your P-stone?
And,
By this faithful search
Could you find your
Philosopher's stone,
At any point in time,
To blissfully regain your
Golden life?
The seventh day of week and month
in seventh month of the year,
number seven dominated
when I decided to appear.
I was seventh in my family,
five brothers, Mother and Dad,
also the seventh granddaughter
each of my grandmas had.
When later, two more children came,
I then was one of seven;
unless you count the baby
who went right straight to Heaven.
My seventh nephew came along,
you guessed it, on my birthday.
Seventh day of seventh month
and seventh in his family.
He was one of seven children raised
in his family and then
he became a Professor of Economics
and a US Congressman.
In nineteen forty one I wed
in the seventh month of the same year
that a seventh of December strike
filled our young hearts with fear.
We'd been married twenty-one years,
a multiple of seven,
when God decided to take home
loved husband He had given.
He died the 4th of seventh month;
was buried on seventh day,
the anniversary of my birth.
It was a sad birthday.
He didn't live to see the seven
grandchildren who are mine.
He'd be amused to know how sevens
are still keeping me in line.
My niece's seventh grandchild came
in two thousand and one;
born on my birthday, seven-seven.
Number seven is not done.
I've had my share of ups and downs,
perhaps my seven's power
alternates from good to bad
and changes every hour.
I'm tryin to keep track of all
the sevens that I own.
Perhaps I'll die on one, if so
please mark it on my stone.
Magical Mystical Numbers contest sponsored by Deborah Guzzi 5th place
As I sit and try to imagine,
I look and find another distraction,
find there's a fly in my poetry soup,
quite like a Michael Phelps swimming laps
around like an Olympian champion,
he must think he's pretty cool
using my bowl of soup like a swimming pool,
as I disdainfully sit here and watch him
while drinking my glass of coke,
he swims figure 8's and alternates
between freestyle and the backstroke,
once again I try to think of a poem verse
as the fly swims and winks at me, what nerve!
then he slows down and does the doggie paddle
looking like he's treading the soup waters for awhile,
finally he stops and looks mercifully at me,
and as he goes under I count to three,
the fly in my soup is finally gone,
once again I can concentrate and carry on.
All together in a body screeching to be let out;
The buzzing sound of their screams like a thousand crickets unsynchronized.
I cannot hear my own voice trapped in a paradox of demise.
How to get out? How to be free? Or forever so it will be?
The future lies in my hands; the problem is they’re not only mines.
My face, my smile, my eyes; they all shift in the blink of an eye.
Blankly staring at the reflection in the mirror; nothing can break me out of this reverie.
The person in the mirror, is it me? At points, dubious to comply.
To describe me, records of adjectives with no conclusion until words stop being invented.
Clever alternates swiftly passing by, with each day demarcating dominion.
The decision is not mines alone; to make truce and live at peace or to self destruct.
Just a moment of silence is all we need to get our heads together in order to harmonize.
We are in a dim room all laying down, restless from the foregoing outbreak.
Staring at each other with a passive smile, knowing that the tempest has elapsed.
We all have one thing in common that we require to survive.
For our existence we are obliged to be a family, dysfunctional but a family.
Every man holds two faces, yes two faces
That his persona always carries and displays
The outer one, a facade that is very artificial
The inner represents the original and normal.
The physical is superimposed on the natural
That alternates with circumstances congenial
The real always conceals behind the artificial
And presents the synthetic for public approval.
The face that looks composed, might harbour
A volcano alive with agitating feelings, bitter
And another which looks seemingly disquiet
Might, be revelling in the tranquility of spirit.
Hence it is difficult to judge any human being
By his outward appearances not withstanding
To know the true being behind the impression
It certainly calls for a keen, penetrative vision.
The extensive observation of human attitudes
Has formed the basis of a widely held maxim
That the appearances are certainly deceptive
So never judge any person by his expressions.
Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent – 60
Interplay of positive-negative current
How Nature alternates through light and darkness
Three hundred and eighty-four times made recurrent
All symbols of family diverse in content
Father Mother Three Brothers Three Sisters in harness
Interplay of positive-negative current
Lunar year split into two neither non-violent
Both sparking each other from out of loneliness
Three hundred and eighty-four times made recurrent
In sixty-four general images latent
Interpersonal relations contorted mess
Interplay of positive-negative current
Myriad chess-board movements create more content
From dark swirling wild quark masses sparking brightness
Three hundred and eighty-four times made recurrent
Yi Jing charts infinite conflicts’ criss-cross current
Shows the right path out of shut dangerous darkness
Interplay of positive-negative current
Three hundred and eighty-four times made recurrent
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
The feeling of disastrous thoughts,
Of my loved one now lost.
The pain escapes in fine threads,
Showing no end.
People come and go,
And change comes slow.
They live to forget,
To have no regrets.
Memories flourish in waves of ecstasy,
Only time can heal our tragedies.
Fear of the future alternates with loops of excitement,
And our hearts will break and mend,
The pain will eventually end.
All Eagles!!
There is a time in everyone’s life when Mother Eagle throws you out of the nest and either you fly or die,
All Eagles!!
There are times in your life where those closest to you make you feel like the worst person ever born.
All Eagles!
When you feel yourself plummeting to the ground at ever increasing speed and the only future you feel is your body splattered on the ground.
All Eagles!
When you lose all of your faculties and feel like there are little creatures crawling around in your body,
All Eagles!
When you are diagnosed with terminal and inoperable Cancer.
All Eagles!
When your spouse divorces you for your closest friend, and you have to see the two of them once a week as custody alternates,
All Eagles!
When the investors of your startup all decide to pull out, and the electric company threatens to turn your lights off if you don’t pay the utility bill,
All Eagles!
When you are plummeting to the ground, assured that your demise is upon you.
Feel it!
Experience it!
Be discouraged!
Be afraid!
This is natural!
But as you descend, and after you have mourned and grieved appropriately,
Reach within yourself and find this message:
“Little Eagle, I know that I seem like a cruel God to let you experience this.
But I have a plan.
This is not the end for you.
You were destined to fly.
But you are an Eagle, and before you fly you must fall,
You must fall with terrifying speed,
And you must feel like all is lost,
And when you let go of everything you thought you wanted out of life,
And you say to me, “God what’s next?”
That’s when you will feel the strength to spread your wings and sore!!
Little Eagle, I know it seems like there isn’t much more that you can try,
But don’t give up,
Because death is not your destiny,
You are created to fly!
Now do so!!”
(A river ‘wave’ for the Laureate of Literature Ivan Bunin 1870-1953)
By Fatmir Terziu
The stars leave slowly,
Leave and are faced with the ‘polluted’ air,
Leave, just as all leaves decompose,
On the wet days with autumn rain,
white sheets like the cornea of the eye,
are wrought on the variable lid under the retina,
it is the fermented song of life,
on which was spent the entire labour,
of the poet Laureate Ivan Bunin.
The stars leave and surprisingly rise,
‘Below the open sky’
Where the poet designed since youth.
Hence, at a vegetal rhythm
the breath of life alternates,
in order to give life to the verse,
and in the philosophical silence of the mind,
its skeletal roots sing,
and in the cold of the bronze,
lies the metaphysical theatre of weather.
The stars conduct in darkness
The song of the night in Paris,
In Moscow the refrain is numbed,
the sound of the horn in a wedge,
peacefully styled a frozen bronze,
over the Life of Arseniev,
with which Ivan made History,
when he led the Nobel to Russia.
Today the stars themselves are hospitable,
The words and verses, probably chosen by the poets,
The rust of the bronze on the froth of the river Oka,
The trees chosen every day seem to clean
the pleasant drawing of the light and water,
Collecting his thousand-page life’s-work,
bent amongst the quiet waves of the river,
that reveal, intimately his hidden epic poem.
Earlier Days
Written: by Tom Wright
7-19-2016
The sweet scent of remembrance,
Alternates between past and present;
As I summon thoughts of youth,
When time was ours,
I stare at images of life, as two, united.
Understanding that,
The years can never be reclaimed,
Just remembered;
THE TWO!
-Dharga Nagar Safa
The biggest democracy,
The great Indian Ocean,
The two alternates of India!