Best Any Poems
If love could have a color, I suppose
it wouldn’t be just any common shade.
I’d name it for the colors of the rose.
In heaven’s hues this flower is arrayed!
From chaste love’s hush of pink to heady rush
that’s shown by cardinal or crimson red,
the rose reveals the grades of ardor’s blush
unto the time it’s thought that passion’s fled.
But in the tint of amaranth, the fire
endures; in purple deep it can transcend,
while yellow blooms in bliss that does not tire,
and white’s fidelity will have no end.
Though black the bud, a red will grow thereof.
By any other name, the rose is love.
The Sounds of Silence
By: Simon & Garfunkle
Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence
In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
‘Neath the halo of a streetlamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence
And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
No one dare
Disturb the sound of silence
And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the sign said “The words of the prophets
Are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls
And whispered in the sounds of silence
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ciERzSFRwzk
---------------------------------------------------------
With a Little Salt and Lime
Hello Jose my old friend
I've come to guzzle you again
The party started before afternoon
I started sipping on you far too soon
My last SENTENCE I fear was slightly slurred
(Vision blurred)
Forgot to EEEET----my breakfast
They look with pity upon me
'Can't hold his liquor', they agree
Now I'm weaving when I try to walk
Senseless babble when I try to talk
Then I feel the NEEEED to flee to an old-oak-tree
(To heave and pee)
but cannot LOOOZE---- my breakfast
Did not like his tone at all
Got myself into a brawl
I quickly put him in his rightful place
Broke his knuckles with my pretty face
Shoulda’ had my OOOATS but didn't so alas!
(I kiss the grass)
and now my ASSSS----is breakfast
In the morning I awake
moaning with a bad headache
Bright-sun glaring through the window pane
I whine and whimper in my wretched pain
In the next room a TV-is-blaring
and screams in my pounding-ear
(No thank you dear)
Believe I'll PASS on----breakfast
*Moral of the story: Never drink before noon OR on an empty stomach...
x You,
the one who hurts me.
x You,
the one who chains me.
x You,
the one who controls me like a puppet.
x You,
the one who has my strings tied to your fingers.
x You're making my choices yours and I've gotten used having no say.
x Weave the webbing you create,
Trap me like a fly.
x Everytime you hurt me,
I manage to pretend that I am blind.
Im clearly not but I lie and tell myself
"She cant be that bad!"
... Can she?
x To me you're like a cigarette,
Im addicted to your love despite it being the thing that's killing me, I don't want to stop but this time I won't let myself answer your calls.
x Instead,
you fill up my head.
Memories,
Cravings,
Feelings.
Withdrawal drowns me.
x I should burn every excuse I made for your abuse,
But I don't.
x Keep promising myself I won't go back to you,
But I've never quit successfully.
x Halfway through another cigarette,
I promised it'd be my last 3 packs ago.
But I knew I'd likely never quit.
I don't even get a buzz anymore,
I feel nothing for them.
x I feel nothing for you.
Pain is fuel for frustration,
Because I don't have a will to quit.
x You lassoed me and pulled me in,
just to tear me and my everything apart.
Thoughts of you flood back any time I leave,
a voice of silk whispering to me.
Claiming one more time won't hurt.
I'm not strong enough to ignore it and it senses my fear.
x I said it was the last time last time. x
x I know the damage even a tiny taste can do.
I swear it's the last hit I'll take of you.
x I don't wanna be alone.
I tell myself your toxic love is like cigarettes or drugs.
Addictive, deadly, and damage can only be seen with the eye of time.
x I need to find a way out of your faux love web,
but I can't see through the fog your kiss leaves.
x You're like a cigarette. I'm desperate to stop but at the same time, I don't wanna quit.
PersephonesPain
Info
Entry #1
Date
Wed. x 00:30-06:10 x 26-1-22
Inspo
Nicotine, P!aTD.
The cruel streets I walked made me sad
I looked not at him, nor at her
Those who passed me by, gutter grads
I felt at home among the curs
We were outcasts from hearth and home
Over the land our kind did roam.
Looking here and then searching there
As many as stars in the sky
By foot, by car, sometimes by air
We wanted to understand why
We couldn't go back where we'd been
Burned our bridges and that's a sin.
Some were poets within their hearts
A killer or two in the crowd
And some were like me; a la carte
Doing what it took to be proud
Some chased women, some ran from them
And in the melee some lost a gem.
I sit here writing words of mine
Wondering how many are left
Who write words and sell for a dime
I have escaped death's cold, cold theft
I have fought the fight and I've won
I'm old yes, but I've just begun
listen,
the whispers
of leaves
turn color
announce
autumn is here.
touch,
the echoes
of the rain
that waters
and blossoms spring.
taste,
uncut
the snow shapes
the crisp cold
ices the wintertide.
see,
the sand sculptures
that paint
that rekindle
a childhood summer past.
smell,
the seasonal airs
stimulates the senses
and the memories they carry.
in the glee,
in the hopes and dreams,
in the human spirit,
lives the miracle of life.
the magnificent
voices in every pitch
deep and resounding,
the melody
of echoes and whispers – uncut.
Maurice Yvonne
Any Old Poem Will Do - Contest
For Skat A
Entered: August 29 2014
Although we're getting on a bit, we're not ashamed to say
that me and my good lady, well, we get it every day.
We try different positions when we're both upstairs in bed
if we're not lying down you'll find us writhing round instead.
There's tubes of stuff in drawers next to us on the bedside table
and manuals that we've bought (oh, plus the internet, when we're able).
When needs arise we get it, boy, we get it while it's hot,
it comes from out of nowhere and we're upstairs like a shot.
The word is out, and local swinging groups call to invite us
but then find what we are on about is rheumatoid arthritis!
Henceforth, I shall not choose the rose
Its wafting scent upsets my nose
Nor will I write for no one knows
The difference ‘twixt a poem and prose
As roses are the bud of choice
For lovers with a silenced voice
Delivered by a workman’s hand
In packaging now damp and bland
Hence, I’ll choose the dandelion
Sunrise colors signifyin’
The heat of passion’s rising sun
That moonlight's whisper will not shun
For roses are and so shall be
For counting coup on fools like me
Be patient
be very very patient
after that
add more patience
then wait
and wait
and wait and wait and wait
become a waiter
at least you will be paid to wait
When she finally finally arrives
give her the biggest smile you possibly possess
tell her, "Hello love, you are early and
looking very majestically beautiful my sweet!
what have you done to your hair love?"
since you have waited a century or two or three
it's a safe gamble she has, and you my friend
will be a big winner.
Therefore when you wait and wait and wait
be a winner
even skeletons
smile
Supporting killing children
they will never ever get my vote again
when you abort a baby
your aborting God from your life
Non-christian parties
now they manifest in our country
protect the eight and democracy our freedom
Any party that supports death as a way forward
has lost my vote forever more
and I am not alone in this opinion in protecting our eight
to keep democracy safe and real
not infiltrated by foreign demons
Turning away from the commandments is a poor state of play
twisting every good value and deed pretending to care
offering choice a word that was given from above as a server
Pro killers I call anyone
who supports these doctor Shipphams
every soul has the right to live
Funny how good values has become the silent facts altered
people are afraid to be real and voice the truth as having the highest value
What kind of clown government calls a referendum
to remove certain protections at the cost of over 25 million
better they kept our country as is and house real problems
Beginning with the homeless and show caring compassion
rather than squander the money promoting sin
True Irishmen and Women would turn in their graves
they each and every one would lay their life down for their children
not murder them as this country needs to awaken
freedom has been removed bit by bit
this shedding blood is inhumane
it's time we stand in numbers for God
He is the chariot of our light
Oh PD Linda’s a wily sly fox
She wants us to think outside the box
But I should be in bed
Rest my poor aching head
I have joined the school of hard knocks
I can’t think of a pesky line to write
For Linda’s entertainment and delight
But my muse has now flown
My poor brain's turned to stone
Will someone help me with my plight?
Oh what on earth am I going to do -
I wish that we had a new local zoo
I’d see a cute unicorn
That was recently born
Linda - I’ll think of a poem for you!
Any poem #38 sponsored by PD
03~31~16
Tender petals' velvet robes
Scent's intoxicating lure
Vibrant hues which please the eye
And evoke romantic mood
Soft to touch, the ending bloom
Sharp is the ironic thorn
Which protects the flow inside
That feeds the beauty of the
Rose
Inspired by Brian Strand's BLOOM contest
Jesus Christ Has the Power Over Any Addiction!
I often hear of people who battle addictions.
This often leaves many scars and afflictions.
There's counselors to help, "a dime a dozen."
Their patient could be a friend or a cousin.
As many battle lives filled with "pollution."
But too often, God is left out of the solution.
Many who need help are given little help at best.
Why they cope with fear, anxiety and stress.
The one who can help the most, is often left out.
As many miss what the real hope of life is about!
The very God who created mankind, knows all about us!
He sent his son Jesus, because he loves us!
We can trust him for his cleansing power!
He can meet every need! This very hour!
If you're battling an addiction and are losing!
Won't you let God be the one that you're choosing?
He’s powerful! And wants to help you so much!
Your life can be forever changed! By his touch!
Come one and all! Your needs, God shall supply!
Come and drink of his water which shall satisfy!
The sins and scars can be a thing of the past!
As you enjoy an abundant life, that'll always last!
The painful addictions can be healed this moment!
By the power and resurrection of Christ' atonement!
NOW can be time to lay your worries beneath him!
God shall restore those who diligently seek him!
Glory to Jesus! The victory's already been won!
All honor and praise to God's anointed one!
By Jim Pemberton 08/22/14
(An Addingham Poem)
Clashes of old tainted galvanised buckets
against the stone flags daily ring out across the manor farm yard,
profanity given proficiently if the swine catches Father off guard.
Lusty teats await emancipation of release ‘Friesians’ frolic in resolution,
‘Pete’ the old boss Bull awaits the dawning the perfect scene for evolution.
The purple haze of Rombald’s moor embraces the horizon
while the aging grey ‘Cat-steps’ hide within the mist,
yet sparkle with dew in the sunlight.
David, the youngest in the family given to shepherding,
some lambs endure many a bastard day, here springtime never early.
The plough a relic of the nineteen thirty’s cuts through the soil
like a knife through butter, till it unearths a boulder, and Joe is not best pleased,
expletive aggression does not fix the problem, but his brother Abe does.
Magpie and Crow recipient to all that exist, as long as it does not move,
screaming Owls grace the heathland, their screech complementing
the never-ending whistling winds.
Come what may, farming a commitment
a promise a guardian to their yacker* of God’s earth.
© Harry J Horsman 2021
*Yacker Old Yorkshire for acre
I Wish I was Your Hero
Your HERO for a day
I'd Slay the Wicked Dragon
And Together we'll Escape
I'd Defeat the Cruel Villains
And Save your heart from Pain
To Fly Away with YOU in Arms
I'd Be Your HERO Any DAY