Best Building(A) Poems
Ferreting around, in dumpsters of dreams
In the back alleys of my imagination
Through swill, liaisons, and cheap rendezvous
And words misspoke in conversations
Rummaging for one morsel, an old tattered remnant
In a disregarded or discarded memory
For that one piece of the puzzle, a maggot's repast
To feed a starving, rapacious fantasy
I find a face, in a crowd, dark eyes and dark hair
It was only a passing glance
There's a memory, lost, of a soft tender touch
From a young girl at my first high school dance
Then mixing and matching, of shapes and sizes
I've always been partial to curves
A voice, a whisper, an exciting laugh
From a stupor that's still just a blur
In this jigsaw fantasy, some light conversation
At a restaurant by candlelight
Some soft music, slow dancing, funny improvisation
Then a romantic walk in moonlight
She's intelligent, engaging, laughs at my jokes
I'm forever lost in her eyes
While we dream with the stars, with her kiss I'm awoke
In the dark , I sit and I sigh
an original poem by Daniel Turner
I filled a small trench that yielded fresh water.
Built as a serpentine and with a sharp corner.
A small waterfall sang a melodious sound,
A lulled sleepiness induced when it hit the ground.
On each side of the rill, fair, watery plants grew,
A great choice of Algae. Ferns, a lobelia blue.
Fitful arrowheads and water lilies adorn.
Cardinals and others begin their flight in the morn.
Already prepared was a slightly large pond,
Well covered with cement mixed with soil beyond,
I planted some hyacinths and water lilies.
Soon, dragonflies waltz around like sillies.
My final job was planting a dwarf willow.
Don't be surprised, robins made it their pillow.
Building a bridge to your heart
I know... I wasn't there for you
I know... I disappointed you
but... I didn't want to
break your heart
I know...you relied on me
I was a little too carefree
but I didn't want to
break your heart
Chorus
So now I'm gonna build a bridge
Yeah, think I'm gonna build a bridge
So I can come back home,
and walk across, these rocky waters
Yeah, I'm gonna build a bridge
think I need to build a bridge
to lead me back...
back to your heart
It's taken me so much time
I didn't even realize...
that I broke it...
broke your heart
We cannot go back in time
Now, I've just got to find
another way to bind
your broken heart
Bridge
I think I've got to build it! (oh yeah)
I know I've got to build it! (oh yeah)
Now I'm ready to build it! (for you)
Chorus
So now I'm gonna build a bridge
Yeah, think I'm gonna build a bridge
So I can come back home,
and walk across... these rocky waters
Yeah, I'm gonna build a bridge
think I need to build a bridge
to lead me back...
back to your heart
John Derek Hamilton
Jan 31,2017
I'm writing this poem in the last days of 2018. The government of the United States is shut down in a fight over the building of a border wall. I am reminded of another border wall that was erected during my lifetime.
In 1961, East Germany built a wall
Of concrete, barbed wire, and steel
Ninety-six miles around East Berlin
At the cost of a bit less than four million dollars
And a bit more than 200 lives.
Intended to stem the flood of East Germans
Seeking freedom to prosper in the West.
A young and inexperienced President Kennedy
Didn't comprehend why East Germany
Needed a concrete wall
When it already had
An Iron Curtain.
In 1989 the Berlin wall was torn down in a frenzy
Of sledge hammers and bulldozers.
Only remnants of it now remain - mostly in museums.
East Germans celebrated and rebuilt their lives.
The reunited Germany flourished
And joined other nations in a united European future.
Why do we think that our wall will have a different legacy?
Roughnecking in Texas was a bachelor's life
Social by nature, not looking for a wife
A chance encounter, at a stop sign was she
Eyes kissed, hearts danced, we knew instantly
Like harbinger daffodils foretelling of spring
Together, sharing dreams, our future was seen
We struggled at first, adjusting to change
Birth of a love, brings harsh growing pains
Both were determined, to persevere and succeed
Using lessons we'd learned, from fails previously
Respect, understanding, compromise and passion
That first year together was anything but magic
Giving of love, taking same of
Standing firm when the ground was shaking
Over hills of remiss through valleys of bliss
A warm comforter in times of heartbreaking
With the hardness of a love, to build a foundation forever
And the tenderness of love, to fulfill dreamed endeavors
That first year of trials we built a family foundation
Which served years to come for our next generation
Feb. 1- 2016 an original poem by Daniel Turner
Happy
these lonely days
myself
I peer
into my past
and touch
Feel you
with memories
vivid
Clearly
as the sun sets
I rise
Lift up
my eyes hopeful
you’ve gone
Distance
between us now
your hate
Anger
your middle name
your sport
Playing
won some now lost
respect
Esteem
for your facebook
on line
Tracks a
private message
to fool
Stupid
building a wall
I’m blind.
© Harry J Horsman 2014
A New form i'd like to call link, the last word of the 2/4/2 stanza has to relate in action or meaning to the first word of the next stanza
Building a fire
Had a smirk of sorrowful clarity
Someone dancing on my grave.
And a artist
The night was gathering materials.
Knowing ambition for pleasure
Would never fill the pit.
The night called for a burn
All the grasped boxes of blankets
Nostalgic wood, Rhapsodies of a ratt-packen
Journals, binders, scraps of thoughts
Nick-knack volumes of prophets
Overdosing on written salvation
Hoping for a instance coffee relief
A always, never the fallow-through
More is pilled, the mix of kindling
Dirty-bits, and old yearnings
A stone from a beach, of first love
Scrapbooks of holding mortality
**** mags, and bed follies pics
A secrete place a catholic boy goes
My heap inter-mixed with nature
All of it dead, until the match
Erupts a fire enjoying feeding
Impermanence is really scarred
So is observing the flame
Hypnotic destruction is fire at night
Eyes dance to flares refection
Chaotic colors of visible heat
A calm abiding trance
Warm glowed my garments
In ambers consuming to ash
If I walk alone through a thousand days,
each hour I shall try to make peace
with my past, with my battles, my loss and grief -
my soul shall still hope, though my smile’s stay is brief.
Today, oh today, I’ll overcome dread,
unwrapping myself from guilt’s unmade bed.
I’ll squeeze clouds overhead, wring out my tears found.
I’ll loop stars in my sight, unshackle feet bound -
to feel embraced when all love seems to die,
to stifle my sobs until brown eyes dry,
lifted from exhaustive anxiety,
unburdened by a crippling frailty.
I’ve reproached my Father, head bowed in prayer,
my heaviest heart has poured out till bare.
Despite bricks I lay, I know He still cares.
Oh, more than I care for myself today!
I’ve hidden under blankets smothered
in my childish uncertainty, covered.
I’ve pretended with my deceptive smiles;
for a midnight sun’s warmth, I’ve reached out for miles.
To cower in anxiety, to wail in my frailty,
I’ve come to stumble and accept
an echo deafened by my hollow steps.
Weighed down by an ever taunting earth,
in a lonely, ailing mind, I hurt.
Perhaps, tomorrow I’ll build a new bridge
freed from this escapable bondage.
*an old poem revised
Building a House on Sand
By Elton Camp
Alabama has some frontage on the Gulf Coast
Where the risk of storm damage is the most
People with money will build right on the beach
Instead of where a hurricane isn’t likely to reach
Then for all of us, house insurance rates will rise
Because they have acted so foolishly unwise
We live way up north, a long way from the shore
But due to those dolts we are forced to pay more
I’d also enjoy having a beach and ocean front view
But don’t as it’s a totally irresponsible thing to do
On such construction there should be a total ban
Or else let insurance rates there rise as they can
Now, when a hurricane comes and blows them away
At our expense rebuild so it can happen another day
Life insurance to a skydiver might rightly be denied
To some houses, that same principle should be applied
Maybe for existing construction exception can be made
But building new houses on the sand should be forbade
A beach dweller reading this may scream and curse
I don’t care as I’m tired of your reaching into our purse
I wanted a buff body, to look good in my "snuggs".
But ignored advice doled out by fitness droids.
Like: never use performance enhancing drugs
or be tempted to use Anabolic Steroids.
After 6 months, I just look like a thug wearing a rug…
…with a Nasty Squint and Diabolic Hemorrhoids
[this poem was first published on my blog - http://wp.me/p2mUkP-eH
with one of my sketch doodles & makes more sense in context of the whole post]
When I accepted Jesus I was placed on a wall,
To begin laboring for Him with stone I lay.
Whether my personal witness is seen great or small,
I'm accountable to Him for performance each day.
Often I'm found laboring using hands void of skill,
While delving into His word for guidance each day;
I always find precision when laboring in His will,
For at Judgment I'll be accountable for stones I lay.
Nearing life's end, I observe the wall I've built,
Each day God has allowed me I liken to a stone.
He's aware of sin, and days oppressed by guilt,
Of my thoughts, any works, or seed left unsown.
Building a Better Box
To build a better box to store more things
Full of history, memory and other rusted stuff
Tools will have to cut and kill the trees
Trees will have to die and change their shape
Hinges made of metal will forever seal their fate
Nailed down, shut off in permanency
On other dates trees will be cut and killed again
To build a better box to store more memories
Close the lid and go to sleep
Stay there as it ends and come to a stop
Sealed up and in eternity
That which remains within will turn solid
To become the box
When the snow is deep and wet enough to pack
I look out my living room window to watch kids build a snowman
Wouldn't you know that old felt hat is gone from the closet and
My meerschaum pipe (this will never do) gone from the rack
Robert has given his own red scarf
While little Sue with not another thing to do
has stolen the black lids off our plastic coffee cups
Never have I seen those kids work with such love's labor
The man is rolled and packed together before I can tire
It is just noon and typical Denver
The sun is out thermometer way up!
So before the kids can sigh the melt
I pop out the door and cry, "What a wonderful snowman!
This calls for a reward!" Then I ease on him my favorite tie
"Every struggle in my life has been a lesson
and made me stronger."
--Constance La France
Life is a shared gift that takes my walk slow.
It's up to us how we live. I hate what I can't fear.
Direct or indirect, I learn to go where I must go.
Life is a roller coaster; we feel, what do we know?
Not aiming to be a mower, my soul trills ear-to-ear.
Life is a shared gift that takes my walk slow.
And bathed roses with tears; who is close to you?
A crop of thorns or roses, bless Earth, hold it dear.
Direct or indirect, I learn to go where I must go.
Light leads trees in struggle; who can tell how?
After fighting trekking, worms rose in loop stair.
Life is a shared gift that takes my walk slow.
Rise, love, smile, and pray: Earth has more show.
Doing our work, don't change us; get some air.
Direct or indirect, I learn to go where I must go.
Struggles shouldn't spoil my day, I know.
Life is beautiful and painful, and loss is near.
Life is a shared gift that takes my walk slow.
Direct or indirect, I learn to go where I must go.
1St Place contest winner
?? Written: November 15, 2022
[Theme - #1 - Introspection]
Submitted to “WRITING CHALLENGE – “V” Forms” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
All the elegant ivy
an inch off the brick wall
is scattered so purposefully
and behind the gate a bird hops
like some kind of humiliated
game show contestant.
This is a view, one view,
through the redbrick arbor
where the corbeled arch frames
a bit of the street
so I can only see
one or two cars at a time
and a man walking by
in his rugged black tshirt
and another car and another
white van.
In Memory Of (the 16th century)
Thomas Dudley,
and I look up again
a bit higher
and realize:
this whole is incomplete:
a brickbanked stretch
of ugly black tar
called the corner of
Mass Ave and Bow St.
The perspective is throbbing
and it fingers me
to the back of my chair
this is the scene.
(horse on a bridge)
the focused sight
through a mullioned window in three
(it might as well be a prism
with a million fluttering sides)
where the shards
leave a scar
at the back of my eye
I am both
I become the charge
and thin gold foil:
(like a receptor cell
with an itchy trigger finger)
I am the glazed hat
of crème brûlée
and you, my view,
are the spoon that cracks
and starts the firing in my head:
I am the electric
that sparks through this circuitry
the impulse,
a picture,
fragmented green
that drives in pieces
(I run like Mercury)
through the endless glass tubes
crossing from left
to right-
through the tracts and chiasmata
I slept through during physiology
but a body, not a spark;
a body to promise up the pathways
(like an Indian bride);
a body wanting more than the tour.
I promise
(to no one; to the window)
to come back someday,
soon,
and charter the wilds
of this decussating optic aisle.
To unravel and unwind
the string
coiled up like telephone wire-
I promise to make note
of its fibers and chemicals,
but then bring it back as string
between two cans:
a slower speed.
Someday I will control
and hold my head under
until it shrieks and hits
and listens to me,
but for now,
I am stuck
holding the walls
of this beautiful wooden room
hoping I will get up soon.