Best Calibration Poems
As my thoughts shrink my mind expands
Growing into the spaces between my words
The words of others
Refreshed within the pauses
Dancing inside possibilities
Filling in the blanks
Words suspended
Within time and space
Connecting the random with the infinite
Skipping along
Flowing through in whispers
The spaces
Reflecting eternal promises
Stepping stones along elastic highways
Breaths yet to be exhaled
Here I grasp for inked pleasure
My resting place
along inspiration's highway
My moments of calibration
Synaptic revelations
Hallways leading to ancient corridors
The place where all artist meet
Each space, appears the same
To those unable to see
They can't feel the symphony
Yet, we who live, within the spaces
Rise together
Give applause
A world expanded from the small
An opening within word walls
Rising to float, upon the breeze
They lift our mind with subtle ease
Come and join me please
I have space
I have room
Within my spaces
For you
Categories:
calibration, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
i am the wordsmith
son of the verbalist
my expressions flows
in clicks of my tongue
like the San of the sands
the only strange thing about me
is my cliks and twists are softer
and sincere
but fearless...
I am the very woman
who will live by her offspring
and voice her dreams
because she could care less
who shuns her because
even then, her skin and
state of beauty
still sets their tongues wagging
Call her strange but
she is the very woman
who would put her foot down
and swear in the eyes of the beast
that she has had enough
The very woman
who would live until the very end
so that she sees to it that
all she loves stays well
The very woman who would
halt the habit of a man
who solves his financial crisis
with the back of his hand
and resolves to the toxic green bottle
for refuge
The very woman who would
live seven lives just so that
her will gets done
She is the very woman
who measures her worth
by the count of heart beat
her essence
has its own calibration
greater than man
She is the very woman
who would be quick to get up
after greatly falling
and heal her bruises with time
then follow the sun
for her home is where it sets
That woman is me
you
her
them
caged in these little girls
waiting to be unleashed
so they could rule!
Categories:
calibration, happiness, hopewoman,
Form:
So mischievous was Aphrodite's dissonant minion of love
Instinct is discerning towards arrows released from above
With a dishonest consideration to environmental influences
He pulled back his bow
Finger still wet from determining the wind's lingering effect
On the emotions below
Releasing piercing assailants from the invisibilities of love
Instinct is discerning towards arrows released from above
Some say he carried a torch to inflame a cold lover's heart
After piercing it through
Or did the dancing flame's movements depict the direction
The winds of change blew
Whether through wind on water or fire, he shot off for love
Instinct is discerning towards arrows released from above
Scantily clad and trembling in February's cold air does not
Fruition in precision archery
Mix in a thin skin that stings in a shaking submission and
Cold hands shoot clumsily
Arrow tip is dipped in a poisonous mix of desire and love
Instinct is discerning towards arrows released from above
His alabaster intentions flanked by the callous and careless
Comprehension of a child
With no elevation calibration and a credulously nascent mind
Misapprehensions go wild
Sporadic, plastic, acidic, nomadic, orgasmic is erotic love
Instinct is discerning towards arrows released from above
Grey faced with white feathers his descending arrows know
No proper guidance
With knowledge as a shield I voice my own decisions with a
New found stridence
Venus plays with love as does a cat letting an injured mouse
Deliberately think it has made it safety to a hole in the house
To be an ethical shot the hunter at best should only occasionally
Succeed with his kill
Leaving the hunted the opportunity to take a stab at love with
Their own free will
Categories:
calibration, desire, emotions, february, freedom,
Form:
Rhyme
When ten minus nine equals eight the baked bean has a chat to a nine foot goblin in an underpass who is carrying sixty-seven bowls of custard to make a very large tart for supper. An instigator is neither an alligator nor a flea. And a dome of teabags makes a very nice living embodiment of a ten trail avenue. It id understood that a physical education is a flat out high jumping curd in a flowery top. High kicking. High School. And a delivery of a smiley happy pizza who discusses existentialism with a pie of fruit. Sat side by side is not sat upside down. And to eat from a pail is to sing about rain whilst spinning an umbrella around and around. Oh look the cats are laughing at the snake who is journeying around a ceiling arch in a garage. Hahahaha. Pickling placing playing personifying peanuts. And a jam frowning. Eradicate no moving potatoes in a steak pastry ball. Hahaha and a big voice booming out from a one kilometre beak. Calibration calling. And a canopy of circular circumstances. No ha to that. So ho up the hill and make enquiries in a tail arch brush. Physicality of an elephant is rife in a head scarf and a dressed man. Six metre beard. And a waistline akin to a moon or a planted planet. Whirl. Xxxxx adjudicator adhere after all afternoons xxxxx talismanic teeth xxxxxx geometrically z
Categories:
calibration, beautiful,
Form:
There was this season for many reason
A failed ambition or bad decision
Too much subtraction, no single addition
Pictures of low resolution, everything in demotion
But surely... Life must go on...
Days of self damnation because of wrong position
Flowers that need attention for admiration
Head that was full of delusions that needs calibration
Victims of disqualification without any consolation
But definitely... Life must go on...
Minutes of demoralization, hours of depression
Roads of devastation no clear relocation
Eyes shed in repetition because of hard reason
Goodbyes to all special persons for their final destination
But simply.... Life must go on.....
Categories:
calibration, life, sad,
Form:
Rhyme
Mingling multiplying minnows marvel masterfully and jaded hooded jalapenos race to the scene. For a pretty fortress is unveiled to a mass highway injection. In a timed spring curve heap hats. In a basting tree wear a nice vest with some heels. As a storm passes remember that a nine inch dome bowl is often a domesticated chatter box and holds vast amounts of information and instructional words to many a passing mouse. So always put leaves in a soup. Wear a spade and trowel. Mix a temple with a house to form associations of a flowery day. Snowing is great fun for those pickled and pins can win in toboggan competitions in world wide juxtaposition. Is merely a global push. A capitalist catapulting cavey. An orchestra of a self shrouded mission bomb. Swooping swerving swimming in acres of grasslands. Timelords. Tinkering. Tinkling. Tin. Tan. Ton. Tone. Dare to cross a washing line of over 800 metres. Balance on a scone. Sit on a sandwich. Or swim in a broth. Cavity carnal caves creating clapping dance. 3% of an oceanographic octopus at a grand ball. Oh how quite exquisite. Punky puffing puffins. Opulence. Orifices of domestic fishes. Cinema of calibration. *** moonbeams
Categories:
calibration, crazy,
Form:
Take in everything
Forget
Take in everything
Forget
Sweat
Salt taste's good
In a very dry mouth
But
It's sickening
It teases with a start of reassurance
But then
It trails down
With less tiles to run on
It's starts tip-toeing moisture out
In the middle of your tongue
It dehydrates the rest of the setting
It causes a calibration to be joined
For a message to be made
That
I
Am
Thirsty
But
The problem with one cloud
Another could form
And another
And another
And Another
And if they join together
A storm could come
I am thirsty
Thirsty?
Thirsty for what?
Water
Clear Odorless Tasteless Neutral Liquid
Sufficient isn't it?
That's all you need?
That all you want?
And if they join together
A storm could come
Thirsty
I've been oh so thirsty
And that's when invisible hands start to open doors
Unlocking every category
What's Behind door number one?
Childhood memories; only child; key home kid; first friend
And door number two?
Liking boys; liking girls?; not liking girls. Crushes; first boyfriend
And door number three?
Losing work; bills to pay; break ups; single
Lonely
Lonely
Lonely
Lonely
A storm could form
And if it does
It rains...
Categories:
calibration, introspection, life, people, storm,
Form:
Blank verse
This is a rash initiation
rushed calibration
brace yourself my child in the water things are waiting
I'm not much for celebrating
more for penetrating thought
what a rush it is to see a man asleep beneath his cot
join us at this table for a bounty of the flesh
then let us scribe the tales of monsters, who to us are us to them
go to sleep my sweet young sparrow as I pray for picturesque
for the mind is but a canvas that we colour in with stress
I have spent the darkness dreaming of the light that is to shine
but in the daytime I stay longing for the rays within my mind
in the end there is beginging and at the start we long to finish
what a finicky transparent way to be, my prayer is finished
Categories:
calibration, corruption, creation, emo, faith,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Always drip the sauce delicately over a tiger barm. Creases are crevasses. Don't look up or down then. Falling is not a fail or a cross. It is purely the pulling of carts over many many miles and many moons can be marked on a stick to the sky. Trees can float past at great speeds. How marvellous. How enchanting. How beautiful. And I would like a fully working pig that oinks. Not quacks. Or moos. Or baas. Pecking is the forte forte of a chicken. But watch out. For if they belch the ground shakes so much that the sky falls in. Lemon peel can be utilised for strong sails. And a biscuit can be recycled to create a sturdy helm. Leaning on the stock is very very good. But stockings made from iron are very very heavy. And too militarized. When and if a seagull comes to visit. Dress it up in a nice fashion. Complete with a smart round hat. Ignore the phone calls from wind tunnels. They are a waste of time. And zero waste is like watching salmon paste drying in a hole. Savouring sweeping swooshing seeking stem. And a mild mannered imaginative hawk on a jetty. Having a snooze. Wake not a walk. Behave appropriately with a bean burger. *** bounce *** book *** circular charismatic calibration circus circles. *** meteorological *** ha moon xx x under pin. *** nautical cuckoo xxxx z. And now all balance on trapezes thousands of feet above. *** ha ha ha xxxxx. 93% of a dramatic performance xxxx. Vibrational ***. Cake. Z.
Categories:
calibration, anxiety, baptism, baseball, bird,
Form:
Coordinates require input, chance comes coincidentally,
Rendezvous a meeting point, your wandering aimlessly,
Vector on interception course, we cross paths randomly
Anticipation is foresight, I never imagined such beauty,
Innocent palpitations strike, overwhelmed by nubility,
Calibration nonessential, elegance exudes so naturally,
Reason is the difficult part, am I thinking irrationally,
Infatuation happens, pubescence outgrows captivity,
Desire lost in translation, god what is happening me,
Cannot understand, attractions growing exponentially,
Resistance futile, unconditional surrender I give freely,
Stay a little longer, for I’m helpless through invisibility,
Somehow you went away, disappearing into obscurity,
My only confession now, is yearning a crushed fantasy.
By David Kavanagh
Categories:
calibration, allusion, beauty, crush, desire,
Form:
Sonnet
My eyes glittered into the eyes
Of thee who cast a spell on my heart
They glanced each other with pleasure
Upon hearing thy contralto voice,
Or seeing thy sight;
Thy presence in all:
I smiled with passion.
Under the proximity of the roof we communicated.
At last, we settled our funny dating.
We watched not each other of fear,
But overshadowed by the confidence of love
We, albeit the impediments enhanced from outsiders,
Loved our dear selves innately.
Didn't they say we aren't fit to be dearer?
Bravo! that we hearkened not unto them.
My love for thee exceeded the heights of the stars—
Which could not be succumbed to fall.
Aye, our love was no fancy
'Twas agapic as the natural world itself
We both couldn't say we loved each other!
Balanced unto that time
Not till when some other person,
In his calibration incomparable to mine,
Bewitched my thee to make her fed up with me
Our love, therein, became fancy,
Thus, fancy! 'cause we were no longer dearer.
It went deep to my faith!
I thereafter realized the troth of the saying:
"The beginning of Trust is the end of Deception."
Categories:
calibration, betrayal, emotions, feelings, first
Form:
Romanticism
Turning Time Arriving at our Anniversary..
Time teases and takes its’ own sweet time to torment me
Whilst I perfect a pout, practice patience and remain plagued
I count, chant, collect, create and call for calm, I cast out chaos
I search for signs that signal, spell out and summon new seasons
Choosing only to celebrate when the cycle is complete
Mandatory movements map out motions in minute milestones
Somehow I am still stung scarred stained by our spell of a story
Restless I religiously resort to rituals to restore some reason
Keeping calm and collected I complete the calibration of my calendar
I work through the waiting, I start to welcome it in
Come on come on come on, come on now, come round now, come round
Our appointment, the event, our occasion, our anniversary eventually arrives
Making this moment a mandatory milestone of a memory in the official past
I waited and wished, deep in the deceit of my denial, I wished time away
Categories:
calibration, anniversary, emotions, feelings, imagery,
Form:
Light Verse
You cannot shift a mower with a motionless stance but a stance is not a stanza nor a stem so never put fifteen flowers, blades of grass, and a sweater together in the washing basket. And a shard a second is a sword that is entrusted to overlordship who's antics please only those that wound, scar and cause misery. It is wise then to put umbrellas over beds for the water will rise up in mass protest and sheer indignation too for the treatment of tailored hands is the testament for tomorrow. And now it is the morning and the verses are sung. Yes sung. Not hung. And a sleepy little blackbird is not in a four foot cage. Ok then. Now to write a thousand word essay on a grain of sand meeting a ten cubic measurement of concrete. Cloves are very very popular at a welcome game of croquet. For the many silver flies enjoy the power of the balls. Fascinating isn't it? That a silver tongued fish with a dramatic energy can sway snakes to a portion of global globules. But a lobe loping is a lecture leech. And a musician making money is magnificent. When all is quiet listen intently for the fall of a dust particle. Landing learning leaving lecherous leftovers. And a single spray from a carnation is a cake calibration in first gear. So heard by all. Wow. Good work for the drivers. And a massive score of an ever circling zero in a swoop dive over the diversity of the oceans waving plastic around. No ha no x no z. Monopodium
Well welcome to NOTHING..............................O
Categories:
calibration, america, baseball, basketball, beauty,
Form:
27/03/2018
With the need for Gun Control so axiomatic,
Donald Trump is acting increasingly dramatic
Continually sprouting that banal NRA rhetoric,
Facing children’s voices like gunfire has him apoplectic.
People may take notice of a Presidential assassination,
Except American gun nuts will still hold some reservation.
The March of our Lives is surely an asservation,
We need Gun Control now and without hesitation.
The youth are making altruistic assertions,
All with the purest and most resolute intentions.
The Second Amendment needs some small calibration,
Adjust the use of automatic weapons regulation,
Make it illegal for this reckless guns registration.
But try taking away their guns and you’ll get annihilation.
Categories:
calibration, america, anger, social, teen,
Form:
Rhyme
everything came from the back door
a peace offering sandwich
something to be lost on the clothes line
and when the door slamed close
chickens scramed with their necks crained back
in their traditional drinking mode
the sound of the back door latch
was forever in thier collective memories
handed down in their genes
the door shut as they drank their last
their soft fluffy feathers turned to down
thoughts left on trianged ground
like the hard edges of earth was the cure
mixed with ash from cooking fires
their poop was like sin and cancer combined
scraped from the feet of snotty nosed boys
corpes stacked like the forgiveness of all
on weathered picnic tables feathered
as if a calibration for nutrition
was calculated in pounds of chicken heads
feathers, bodies and poop
Categories:
calibration, addiction,
Form:
Prose Poetry