Best Captioned Poems
I have a very brief confession
that I have to make.
It's about the selfies
and it'll make you break.
I only wear glamorous tops
during my homemade shots,
Since bottoms aren't seen
And only the face is on screen.
I give all my efforts
In putting some makeups
Just to look pretty on my selfie
And wrote on it -- hashtag no makeup.
I put on my lipsticks
And do the sexy duck face,
Then captioned the output with bible quotes
Though it doesn't relate.
Mom wondered
Why I locked myself in my room.
Oh please, I was just doing a selfie
and surprisingly came out well groomed.
Categories:
captioned, creation, high school, hilarious,
Form:
Free verse
Nothing to dishearten if things go astray
Not get scared if your life is in disarray
It gets better and better as time passes by
Many such trials are bound to fade away.
Facing the unpleasant without any dismay
Is the best way to get through the tragedy?
Things fall in places surely and positively
This then offers no reason to worry truly.
Remember change as nature’s philosophy
Nothing remains in life as a true constancy
Fear no more of any impending eventuality
That surely pushes one ahead sans timidity.
Do not be worried by happenings unpleasant
Believe the maxim that nothing is permanent
He only gains surely who can stand and wait
With a firm trust in the above captioned tenet.
Happenings are unavoidable and inescapable
Brooding over them makes one vulnerable
To despondency which is indeed deplorable
Action with serenity is vital which is laudable.
All said and done, know that destiny operates
We are but tools used by a mighty controller
HE plans in great wisdom the chain of events
HE makes things happen that happen for good.
Categories:
captioned, inspirational,
Form:
Light Verse
< I have dipped my pen in the sublime, it's my gift to you
Now use it wisely and write about some captioned caught views
thus that of an snow-capped mountain with an eagle that soars
or white sandy beaches where ribbed tides rolls back to it's shores
maybe stars and moon dance reflecting off stilled bay's port
in ones head you must determine choice of words to now sort
from beautiful to just pleasure does not hit it's mark
beneath recant memory that caused the ignited spark
observer of denial you can not destroy ones voice
within pens stroke there comes a poet with another choice
seize the day and come bow to the chosen word of the day
dont let an overpowering object just get away
Written By Katherine Stella 6/26/11
Entry For A Rambling Poet's
Writing In The Sublime
Categories:
captioned, adventure, dedication, education, fantasy,
Form:
Couplet
View so clear from a very distant perspective
Inclinations and angles wonderfully captioned and analyzed
Sight alone isn’t sufficient. This is coming straight from the mind
In full projection of the future
Only then can a mission be targeted and worked
No wonder Steven Wonder nurtured a great one despite being blind
Categories:
captioned, visionary, wisdom, work, perspective,
Form:
Acrostic
Bought at an antiques store for a song:
unframed print #225 of 750, signed by the artist
Number III of the family name, all painters,
(presumably) Those forbears hard to discard--
"Stay Awhile" its title, hospitably captioned by
a country boy, like my father, perhaps-- posing
beside his favorite horse on the back roads
of Race Pond, Georgia, his playground by
birthright, the Okefenokee Swamp.
Staying awhile, I place myself in the painting,
its cool morning mist in the hills beyond.
The white clapboard house, red-roofed, six
front windows, one dormer peeking out
from the eaves; four steps up to the porch
from the under-the-house black earth the house
was built on; its checkered slats at the base
prohibiting the crawl space where the doodlebugs
hide. Kitchen matches to be left untouched,
heeding the grownups chide. Only to the bugs
is it dire: "Doodlebug,doodlebug, hurry
on home--your house is on fire.
Two Christmassy trees hug at opposite ends
of the house, awaiting December decoration.
A grassy knoll rolls down to masses
of white and yellow sunflowers in a frenzied
welcome. Past the grayed barn where
tools are kept and the horses are tethered,
I place myself in the painting, flying Superman style,
spread eagle, arms out, facing downward
past clapboard house, barn. Then, into the hills
with their pale promise of perennial dawn where
there is no sorrow, no pain, no heavy heart
unshared, no loss we cannot bear.
Categories:
captioned, imagination,
Form:
Blank verse
forgotten sound
of a father's voice,
only a fond memory of English Leather,
faces of children
not one's remembered,
melancholia captioned,
while snared in long wars
bereft of true glory,
cordite charred, world weary,
heavy hearted,
heavy handed,
heavy lidded,
minutes whip past
like a lash on raw skin,
gilded ages burst like flack,
eons too much when unwelcome
too little too soon,
moments spent like carnival tokens,
spin cycle of life
a kaleidoscope swoon,
awaken to dotage,
snippets of melodies
riffing toe tapped,
younger days, younger legs,
when life was as simple
as a pair of rubber soled shoes,
leg tapped,
tap away.
Categories:
captioned, father, memory, old,
Form:
Free verse
A barren paradise
Paper parachutes
Bleed, I before we
Except after deaths
String of light suctions
Screams captioned
Vocalizing muffles
Fleas flee
Parasites sight
Leaches beseech
Conventions plateau
Wonted into winter
Inept untaught cling
Polluting prospects
Tasting achilles
Oxidizing tongues
Clip urinating lips
Pressurizing knuckles
To freeze ends mean
Of inks soap
Washing pluto pores
Till burning gain
Is nothing lost
Samold verse
An inkling fresh
What's left to not do?
Peddle soup cans?
Underline oddities?
Misspell mutiny?
Lying in a sensible
Juxtaposition
A fruitful prison
Categories:
captioned, angst, art,
Form:
Blank verse
Even when time stands
Still the wings of smiles
Crumble in darkness
Life stands still in places
Even where moons twinkle in
Passing moments the only
Picture hanging in this corridor is
One blank captioned “Silence”
Is always seen when glances
Are never heard leaving
Incomplete messages as yesterday is
Nothing less than a fiction of tomorrow’s
Pleasure cruises back alleyways
High seas build salty reactions
Oblivious to desiring ships already
Captained have run aground resting
On her left most beautiful side
Your left most beautiful smile intrigues
Then captures butterfly wings
Akin to music dew drops
Play on blooming flowers
Fighting two years of wither
Heart left a frost bitten
Egyptian pyramid built from
Your one dimple down snow on
African Pampas of unknown
Feelings return every rainy
Season lives in September
One trips over words never
Spoken dreams never awoken
From the nightmares titled life
Is never an easy road to run
Feet ache then burnt in winter
Suns set earlier than in the spring
Dew no longer frozen on lips
Disguised as lilies drunk off this
Intoxicating experience I waft from
Petal to petal an insignificant bee
Clothed in a garden rivaled only by Eden
Cast out to re-grow our forbidden fruit
Tree branches intertwined lost and histories
Scribed once more the ghosts of our
Former souls scream to birthed again
In tomorrow’s sunrise…
Categories:
captioned, introspection, life, lost love,
Form:
Maybe a day will come, and it breaks my heart,
That the white coated men, will tell my mom we're apart,
That they tried their best, but it wasn't enough,
And now, I'm gone, in a world so tough.
On that day, she'll call, and I won't answer,
She'll text, but there'll be no reply to her,
Then she'll view a friend's status, and there,
My photos will be captioned, gone, not here.
So soon, we'll forever miss you, they'll say,
And momma will be all tears, as she prays,
Papa will be sobbing silently, in his pain,
For I'm no longer with them, it's hard to explain.
Then posters will come out, it's okay not to be okay,
But it'll be too late, to take my pain away,
For I'll be gone, to a place we all dread,
Leaving behind memories, of the life we once led.
So cherish every moment, and hold your loved ones tight,
For life is unpredictable, and can change overnight,
And when that day comes, and I'm no longer here,
Remember, I love you all, and hold me close, dear.
Categories:
captioned, anxiety, death, depression, grief,
Form:
Free verse
State of perception placates
sun or moon
incubi or mindful art
dreamlike lays or lucidity
a place of rest where we are restless
turning in and tuning out
body's give but souls still shout
exuberantly in the echo chamber of the heart
arrows bent and often missed
butterflies all about
the clouds have the questions
captioned with quips
tied up and whipped
the cream always rises
it's on top
I skim the milky waters
you dipped in innocence
(k)not undone
I the moon/you the sun
Categories:
captioned, love,
Form:
Free verse
I feel I can no longer write anymore
It seems readers would rather ignore than explore
Writing is a commitment I chose to do
But as of now I am simply through
I write so others can enjoy
It’s not a game and a ploy
It’s my writing in having others enjoy
Writing is a gift from my heart
I remember when I write it was something I enjoyed
Writing was my devotion to share with the world
It actually made my heart swirl
My work seems to be passed on by
Yet every determination in effort with a continuous try
My writing seems to come as a storm
It’s my variety being different from the norm
Assertion using understandable words
Readership in wanting to be heard
So what have you felt in my writing all along?
Should I continue to write and is this where I truly belong?
You tell me if my writing captioned your heart
Have I truly made my mark
My writing being no secret
Respond to me now and if my writing has added that wow.
Categories:
captioned, anger, anxiety, dedication, desire,
Form:
Rhyme
Mire voices echoing in my head
Am I dreaming instead?
Yet I feel I am being talked to
It’s every day living through and through
Yet I don’t seem to have still a clue
Perhaps a method of inspiration coming far away
It seemed so sudden even on this day
The whispers were telling me to appreciate
But as I walked I stopped in my tracks on hesitate
Yet whispers moved my footsteps to position of on
I had no idea as to where in life I belong
Yet it seemed the voices had the true answer
But of course I was in a prance
Whispers had my ears in being well toned
My destiny would be coming sometime soon
Whispers telling don’t worry what people say
You are thinking normal and you are ok
Tell me more I responded to the whispers
But the whispers responded, “I have already heard and captioned every meaningful word”.
Categories:
captioned, appreciation, beauty, dedication, destiny,
Form:
Rhyme
Most of my Lix spittle
+ four additional anniversaries
since exiting birth canal
as full term newborn
re: minimally viable existence
post doc severance umbilical cord,
nevertheless yours truly
found himself figuratively
linkedin and tethered to lifeline
particularly in formative years
(primarily academically) adrift,
and malfunctioning blinker
analogous to a boat
without an ankh (clawing
away to stay afloat)
aimlessly bobbing -
and drowning akin
to a besotted drinker
just out of rest to be
rescued by Mister Rinker
sea ming lee without
any hook, line and sinker
despite being gifted with
an above average thinker,
(who calls Lake Wobegon
his birth place)
from without, where two
brown myopic ocular
orbs shutterfly, twitter and winker.
All thru academia
just barely passing grades
nsync with avocations
such as: jigsaw puzzles,
photography, playing piano
weight lifting with free weights
and other endeavors metaphorically
suffered from anemia,
and at my nadir,
thy prepubescent psyche
plummeted lovely bones
into grave state,
courtesy anorexia minus bulimia
mental health also linkedin
shot thru through with
healthy dose of dysthymia
captioned tinker tailor soldier spy
kept awake with insomnia
peppering cerebral
cortex with monomania
buzzfeed ding somnambulant
zombified condition
with a burning
desire toward pyromania
nsync with unmanageable
raging (red dee
and bull lush) testosterone
spawning (when libido
ran rampantly amuck)
satyromania, the above particularly
accentuated, and cresting
with accursed triskaidekaphobia
most agonizing, when
orbitz around Earth
demarcated ten plus three
month date on a Friday the thirteenth,
hence death be not proud
sought after utopia
pleading, longing, and hooping
if I Willoughby
able to sprinkle
cremated ashes across Xenia
after Dayton death.
Categories:
captioned, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Free verse
My Death might be some beautiful evening of 8th January , 2018 whence I will have heart brimming of contentment and a tummy brimming of snacks .
My death might be bed time stories to your young mates who will burst out in laughter saying 'hey , your grandpa was kinda cool' , breaking all the generation gaps and captioned cracks of boredom , that day I shall be the star of a young night , maybe not a permanent one but surely the star of the night which won't ever grow too old.
Die as if your death were to be a bed time story , a coffee partner , a light joke or a karaoke of early 90's , said a man at his deathbed at ninety , unemotional and unmoved of any heart stroke which wasn't as loud as an aged phart.
Amidst the easy conversations of diseases and diabetes there is a faulty concept of " sorrow is the new cool " says the modern fool . Heartbreak heat is
8 the twerky beat and vaguely judged and surrendered sadness is the depression 2.0 .
Death to us might be an easy succumb to struggle you find strong , stronger than your trekking adventures and passport stamps . Death to us might be a lonely night of cigarettes and victimisation and pitifull stories that would just remain an instagram story for 2 days unlike that of our grandparents .
So dear trendy death , please visit my door when I am done giving all the love that the world desired and not when I wrongly thought I didn't get the love I desired .
Knock my door like a neighbouring child known yet anonymous and not like a part time lover who just gave me life lesson nd I thought it was a suicidal fuss .
Categories:
captioned, grandfather,
Form:
Light Verse
Braving the cold air
For the moment it takes
To stroll to the end of my driveway
Wearing but a wool sweater
I bow
To the mid-afternoon
Picking up
A popsicle of morning bound newspaper
Straightening up
To the miles and miles of blue sky
As if I am the stranded man
Under one palm tree on the one island
Captioned in a New Yorker cartoon
Hand on my hip
The other holding a salute
Surveying the exquisite sheet of sunlight
Snapped over this frozen ocean of white
Pretending to believe it’s a trick on the eye
To see a picket fence of tree trunk shadows and candy stripes
Flattened to the snow
Disavowing all property lines
As the caw caw caw of a crow
Crackles a warning hello
His black body a shark eye
Staring sideways
From the skull of a stoic Oak
Down to me
Then back to the snow
And a trail of stitched holes
Melting and gaping from the feign of heat
Evolved
From the paws of an overnight tomcat
To that of a deer
To now
The plucked boots of a man.
What stranger would stomp in circles
Around my house and under a reading lamp
Like this?
Searching for meaning in day-old headlines?
But for a shadow
Let loose from his own wolf body
Tearing from what blocks the sun
Temporarily born from the dark to the light
To come and go as all in one.
Categories:
captioned, seasons, winter,
Form:
Free verse