Best Amateur Poems
Ok I'll get to the point
I'm here with a list of fears, needs and demands
So I may get on your nerves sometimes
Truth is I don't know how to play this girlfriend game
I get needy and vulnerable and messy
You should know this
I'm not used to this dating thing so I might break a few rules
Like that "thrill of the chase" or "don't be clingy stuff"
I want to throw myself at you
I want to find something in your presence that reminds me of how we make love and when we do,
I want to lose myself in you
But I'm awkward and clumsy
Sometimes I leave these insecurities lying around, if you bump into one, say hello
I left my fears all over the floor with last night's underwear
So....if you happen to trip over them don't turn a blind eye
Get fully acquainted with whatever ugliness I have about me
I'm bossy, I'm fussy and I nag a lot
But you already know
I had hidden a host of imperfections underneath my eyes, my smile, my hair, my silly jokes
Or whatever it is you like so much about me
I was afraid you'd find them
But I knew you loved me when you stayed
Sometimes just a trim; others, a drastic clip;
around-the-world trip with one mighty snip.
Children and scissors together, tempt fate;
by the time you check, it's already too late.
Like closing hen-house doors after the chicks are out;
no need to whimper, get angry or shout.
She's taken the scissors, achieved a slam dunk;
whacked her dog-ears off, leaving two stubby chunks.
In the myriad map of the skies,
Bright lights twinkle before my eyes;
Lost among the almighty maze,
I marvel to identify star from haze.
Do the celestial sparkles stand or move?
Those twinkling lights so hard to prove,
Seem to stretch and mysteriously change,
Perhaps slight cloud passing by strange.
I concentrate and signs vivify aloft,
The night is warm, the air is soft;
As I strain to look past the breeze,
I almost believe stars tell destinies.
One Sunday morning, I went home to visit mom and dad.
My brother was also there, and I showed them what I had.
The first thing I said to father as soon as I saw him,
was that I had four free tickets to the art museum.
His first verbal reaction was the old thing “I don’t know.”
He then said, “Ah, what the hell! Alright, I think I will go.”
Getting the old man in the place proved to be a tough sale.
The one thing he seemed interested in was a female.
This young attractive blonde woman was someone father eyed.
We discovered shortly that this cute thing was our tour guide.
The old man showed displeasure after passing through the door.
He displayed constant disapproval while he walked the floor.
Dad would make deprecating comments of all he observed.
Witnessing this, the tour guide seemed to be quite perturbed.
As everyone was led down the abstract art corridor,
my dear dad spewed out obnoxious comments a little more.
He made remarks about a work by Pablo Picasso.
This resulted in an embarrassing scenario.
He then emitted some words that sounded quite imprudent:
“Might this be a painting rendered by a preschool student?”
While standing and observing at a Jackson Pollock work
My old man displayed another example of a quirk.
He was heard to ask with loud interrogative candor:
“Is this from an accident at a Sherwin-Williams store? “
His next words transpired into negative vicissitudes:
“Tell me, where do you display all of your paintings of nudes?
The tour guide appeared to have had enough of my old man.
After all, she took more than the average person can.
Immediately following my father’s last retort,
the tour guide announced she would cut the exhibition short.
She told me, “Please take him out of here as soon as you can!
I really feel sorry for you if he is your old man!
If you ever want to avoid some abasement and shame,
any Sunday afternoon, take him to see a ballgame.”
Every sport man’s first ID card,
On him imposing, a period to be on guard;
When the slimmest interest shows in financial gain,
And inglorious quitting is the pain!
Not that affluence one does detest:
Mounting pressures from the east and the west,
One’s body and teeth sometimes rattling
While with an irksome low rating battling.
A time of anxiety about recommendation:
Occasional acting of one under intimidation.
Determined pursuits of excellence before judges:
One can The Amateur see as he sometimes budges.
Not the type to be heard dropping happy hums;
A continual heading for home with paltry sums
Likely to be rather caught writing his elegy
Because of his devalued burnt energy!
In football, members of countryside clubs
Making fortunate appearances in a local league.
On the pitch less of lions and more their cubs
And somewhat destined to enact scenes of less intrigue:
A status that doesn’t much thrills offer,
Its bearers’ faces undisclosed diseases suffer.
Poorly written words
are etched onto a raggedy
sheet of paper.
They form into an ugly paragraph
unable to be deciphered
by anyone older than five.
Finished up and turned in
to the teacher
where she smiles and honors it.
Injected confidence swells inside
an amateur mind
Plastic thoughts
Forming in the brain.
Positive thoughts of riches and fame
Childish dreams, impossible goals.
The smog of thought clouds
the mind, makes it blind to the errors
the writing is made of.
Said writing is submitted to clearer eyes.
They judge with brute force
Stern frowns scarred on their lips.
Rejection comes in a heart beat.
Best you had,
Now that’s sad.
Well I’m glad.
I’m no fad,
I’m ironclad.
You alright,
Not so bright.
Can’t you fight,
With this spite.
Where’s the might.
Times ago,
Now shadow.
Left me low,
In the snow,
You now owe.
I then die,
When I cry,
To the sky,
Up so high,
When you lie.
Why is she,
More than me?
You love thee,
I disagree.
Lone latchkey.
In this blur,
This you stir,
And occur.
Amateur,
Saboteur.
P oet, I'm afraid your words are too small.
O range is a word that won't rhyme at all.
E nd with a full stop, and a coma there.
T he verse you put down is practically bare.
R emember to spell check, find all your mistakes.
Y et this is not all writing poetry takes.
A just beginner
First timer around brand new
NEVER DONE BEFORE
James Edward Lee Sr ©2017
10/18/17
(curtain raises)
costumes torn
lighting wrong
make up melts
rehearsals long
missing props
forgotten lines
nervous looks
backstage whines
feuding stars
director puce
sulky looks
uneasy truce
scenery falls
missing cues
singers flat
poor reviews
backstage romance
budget woes
producer quits
big egos
opening night
mistakes are hid
think no one saw
of course they did
run is done
sigh of relief
new show now
see you next week!
(curtain falls)
I was registered in a
watercolor art class
it was going to be fun
and inspiring
to learn the basics
and experiment
at home
so when I created
my masterpiece
worth any Picasso
I was so proud
I had to bring it
to my next class ~
imagine my surprise
when the instructor
let out a screech
"that’s not what we learned’
I almost laughed at her
but just quietly sat down
for what would be
my very last amateur hour
AP: 1st place 2020, 3rd place 2022
I'm real good at excuses,
And syntax abuses,
But my ultimate excuse,
I'm an amateur, what's the use?
What do I know from this stuff?
I ain't no diamond in the rough,
I just put down words that come to me,
From someone or place that I can't see
So blame them if it sucks,
Or makes you laugh with yucks,
The only poems that come from me,
Are those that create a sense of ecstacy.
I’m a traveler
landfill photographer
amateur aristocrat
hours on in the bookstore
chai latte with just a pinch
of cinnamon and vanilla
a crescent full of comfy chairs
and extra texts on eastern thought
ready, set,
reading’s fun again
I smoke enough
to hold my bluff
but not enough to harm me
I’m a souvenir
lightweight contender
amateur aristocrat
another sunny Saturday
finds me lying poolside
taking in the rays, so
taken of it all
could you bring an iced tea?
don’t you know a gentleman
when you see one?
I work enough
when times are tough
but never enough to tire me
I’m a remnant
adamantly spoken for
amateur aristocrat
alth(ough) you
fore(go) the
quid (pro) (quo) &
free th(row) a bouteille de
bor(deaux),
it is most certainly jonathan (doe)
with whom you be(stow) the
(crow) that swoops o’er the
(plateau) in the same
area (code) as your gothique
cha(teau) & still you wouldn’t
(know) how to (show) someone filled up
à ras bord avec (woe)---
rather than (glow) you’ll trust the ta(rot) &
manifest yourself accordingly be(low)
all standards of skid (row) &
game (shows)---
down on your knees in kow(tow)
ready to (blow) the first
(shmo) from whom you got
some (dough),
yes, it seems we’d need to review your bi(o)
before we could consider you anything less than (so)-(so).
ENTHUSIASTIC AMATEUR
I am lying here trapped and need some assistance,
And all because of my husband’s persistence.
“You don’t have to buy any bookshelves,” he said.
“I’ll purchase some timber and build them instead.”
I had some misgivings but he was so keen
That I thought to refuse him would seem rather mean.
He took his tape measure and measured the wall
And said it would take him no time at all
He fitted the roof rack onto the car
And drove to the woodyard, which wasn’t too far.
When he returned he had planks bright and new
And a big box containing wood screws and glue.
I helped him unload it and brought it in doors,
Then he went to the garage for hammers and saws.
An electric drill and connecting cable
And he spread them all out on the dining room table
I heard sawing and drilling and snatches of song
Interspersed with some curses, four letters long.
I wasn’t convinced that he knew how to do it,
But I made myself scarce and just left him to it
Seven hours later he emerged with a grin
And, taking my hand, he invited me in.
I looked in amazement at what he had built.
All perfectly level, no sign of a tilt.
I started to stack my books, one-by-one,
Still hardly believing how well he had done.
After book twenty-four, came an ominous sound
And I suddenly found myself pinned to the floor
Although the bookshelves were seven feet tall,
He’d forgotten to screw the things back to the wall.
So I’m lying here trapped and in need of assistance.
And all because of my husband’s persistence
18th June 2020
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