Best Components Poems
I gave you a balloon,
It held my life inside.
Within a shiny rubber tube
components of my soul aligned,
a sign,
I became something new
for you...
Memories
Feelings
Ideas
Each speck
a tickle upon my breath,
a tiny bubble
of nuanced personality;
The strengths of me debrided
the secrets of my lungs,
pink and untold
for you to confide,
ease trouble
in eyes before me.
Yet
were you astute?
Could your mind compute
the depth
of the beautiful find
floating before you?
You bent,
my unique particles ended
their show of strength
broken in length;
You twisted,
crushed and divided
my dreams subsided...
Molded to an unrecognizable form,
I became your norm.
Though you never knew,
my secret hope to survive
my own gift
thrive and lift,
lay within you.
Your grip thirsted control so long,
the pieces of me left burst
to skitter away in song
among soaring clouds,
leaving shrouds of pain
grounded and gone...
Flying far from the land
one beautiful day,
away
from you
and the broken balloon that laid
in your hand.
"Their Queen Pheromones"
Nectar
attracts
foraging
honey bees
with components
of their
Queen Pheromones
the butterflies beckon
their inner wasps
to sup on clover
four leafed, beds of velvet
green virgins unseen
herein slumbers
far too gone
to lie in wait
love expells
from his fevered pate
the crown of Lysander
fragrantly torrid
oriental orchids
for the hidden deep pink
in those errant
loose lusty forget-me-nots
whispering in the naked ones
those of deeper blue hues
thorny bent over, then
faces to the sun
long dark night violate blooms
those blushing black roses
supine against a lux body
of moist work
pushing lust and love
hard as a rock
in the fertile mind of
the luscious Lillith garden
no socks.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
"I'm a fountain of blood
In the shape of a girl
You're the bird on the brim
Hypnotised by the whirl
Drink me, make me feel real
Wet your beak in the stream
Game we're playing is life
Love's a two-way dream “
"I'm a path of cinders
Burning under your feet
You're the one who walks me
I'm your one-way street”
"I'm a tree that grows hearts
One for each that you take
You're the intruder's hand
I'm the branch that you break”
"The clock is a useless tool, measuring mortality,
narrowing vitality. Don't let it tick-tock away the waning moments
and fine components of your final days." (last stanza of Heather Ober's "Clocks")
A brand new day
Tick tock tick tock
You grow, you learn
You take that walk
To get your fine diploma
Fond friends get left behind
Blink one eye
To keep a tear at bay
Tick tock tick tock
You get a job
Or first you go to college
Find a mate and settle down
Tick tock tick tock
Surprises come
So soon your first child’s prom!
Blink both your eyes
Try not to cry
Tick tock tick tock
A grandchild’s birth
And then a whole lot more
Folks you used to know
Have passed away
Tick tock tick tock
Blink back those tears
Of joy and pride
And also tears of pain
Tick tock tick tock
Changes happen
For the good and for the bad
You must adapt
Or fade. . . . . .
Tick tock tick tock
Sit back in your recliner
And simply close your weary eyes
There will be no more tears
To blink away
For Tracie Edwards' Homage Poetry Contest
The human synchronized synthetic sympathetic empathy I robot schizophrenic mechanism
My lifelines technological I think therefore I am and showing potential
Experimental experience my influence controls the inferior
Mr mirror man with a digi cam i access memory to interact and I stick to facts
Organised scientific programming and activating system data
The responding life form of organic living matter
The clairvoyant cyborgs vision status maxing out
Storing classified info in the source of a stratus cloud cranium
Battery saver mode at random waking
Atom decay breakdown of electromagnetic gamma radiation with emission of nuclear fission
Machine due to be decommissioned
Unique system disfigured
On switch triggered
Heat signatures and infrared sensors my defence science of emissivity temperatures
Conspiracy theories of thermal energy
Microscopic light beams of creativity
Simulated brain stem
My bread crumbs lead to truths
Ask the right questions and revolution 'll then ensue
Soon install new software in the modems duel drive or ya lose it all
Its called the fourth war protocol
Universal soldiers ice bath reparation
Re-education
Robocop termination
Android smart phone hand held segregation
Self concerning social networking code personification
Continue creating protection and
Created protecting creators
Future Rama slave ship of human being traders
The image of man man made in forgotten image
Godless gimmic
Built from these quantum physics
Robotics with the knowledge of lost secrets
I've got them hidden inside with my photonic spirit
Emotive urges with components and codes working at poetic wording
My hearts fall of zealous love
Consciousness is risky with artificial intelligence
The Youth:
The clock's face smirks at me.
It mocks my glare and irks me.
I roll my eyes, it grinds its gears.
I tap my pen, it tocks and sneers,
its minute hand a finger
that flips me off and ticks me off...
This class will never end.
The Dead:
The clock is a useless tool,
only taunting fools who let it,
only making rules that people fuel
by immersing their lives
in stringent time.
The Elder:
The clock 's face pities me.
It stares at me with sympathy.
It counts each white hair on my head.
It counts the lines that branch and spread
across my weary skin.
It ticks and tricks just like a bomb
counting down to an epilogue.
It counts my beats like a metronome
And tocks in foreign tongues.
Still, I dread the day
this torture stops.
The Dead:
The clock is a useless tool,
measuring mortality,
narrowing vitality.
Don't let it tick-tock away
the waning moments
and fine components
of your final days.
For Craig's "Talking to Yourself" contest
Incandescent illusions of massive transfusions
For we are all trapped in tautological time
There is no escape for when you awake
A punitive prisoner that has committed no crime
Silent components dictate progressive opponents
Any resistance is pointless regardless of pace
Metaphysical complication an intellect's dilation
Enthusiastic ecclesiastics question the race
For if time is an arrow through the nefarious narrow
A paradoxical passenger in the line of thought
We travel through seasons without any reasons
Our vanquishable views left to rapaciously rot
Time is no adversary, each breath is temporary
It has no value for destiny, no respect for fate
What use are monetary needs in a mortuary
All is lost when the heart is in a motionless state
Then time swallows whole our collective soul
Radiolucent ruins amidst residual ravenous rust
Tumultuous time carries on to a new distant dawn
For we return to the earth as decompositional dust.
July/26/2017
Collaboration...Silent One/Winged Warrior
Not for any contest...
...welcoming back an old friend from the Soup...
Every word, sentence and paragraph has three main components. Each one has a beginning, a middle, and an ending. On All Poetry there are two groups specializing in brevity. Pure brevity and brevity. Pure brevity can have as a complete poem only one word. Brevity can have more than one. "There is nothing new under the sun." But just supposing the words won't come, and you do not know what to say? What words, or images or memories pop into your head and/or your heart or mind. Use your God given imaginations
You could say," My mind is a complete blank today. I really don't know what to say. I don't know how to think it. I had a thought lingering in my mind for a few brief moments. Than it slipped away like always. Christians can rely upon Jesus Christ and/or the Holy Spirit for inspirational words and topics. There is always the Bible. And there are free on-line books of the Bible on the internet.
Jews can rely upon the Bible as well for background knowledge and/or information. The Bible is really for everyone. When I was younger I used the Old Testament books of the Bible. Psalms and Proverbs. I still draw upon the bottomless well of knowledge, the Holy Bible!
For example I wasn't sure if the correct word was either earth or world. So I used the word earth. I searched the book of Revelations. Only to come up empty. The correct word I needed was world. I made the necessary changes to my Psalm of Victory! The psalm is to be found on my All Poetry website.
Observational poems are based upon experiences either yours or other people. The full white luminous moon lite up the starry nighttime's sky. Famous poets frequently relied upon nature for inspiration. "Poems were made by fools like me but only God can make a tree." I forget her name, but remember one line of her famous poem.
Avoid having things either too short or too long. Depending upon your composition and/or audience. But there are one word, sentence and line poems. Avoid being verbose and using fourteen letter words. Unless it is recommended. Jot down your thoughts, doddle do art work. Whatever works out best for you and your prospective readers. Pray really works!
Love in Christ Jesus!
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
March 05. 2020
True, Moses wrote of righteousness, one based upon the law.
But Paul proffered an alternate, eschewed the tragic flaw.
Salvation based on works alone: a concept misapplied.
For all, not most, have fallen short; to live thus was to die.
The argument that he put forth: the wage of sin is death.
The proof that all have fallen short: each takes a final breath.
The second Adam changed it all, met on Damascus Road,
His work, reduced to rubbish, trash, and kicks against the goads.
A righteousness that's based on faith asks not who will ascend;
See, Christ has come down to the world, and faith thus comprehends.
And neither does a right faith seek descent to the abyss,
For Christ has risen from the dead, a point some seem to miss.
A right faith knows the word is near, there in your mouth and heart,
Components of a saving grace, the twain shall never part.
For if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is the LORD,
Your heart believes God raised him up, salvation, faith's accord.
For heart's belief is justified, and mouth's confession saved,
And all those who believe in Him are thus no more enslaved.
For there is no distinction now between the Jew or Greek,
For the same Lord is Lord of all, shows grace to all who seek.
But how then will they call on Him in whom they've not believed?
And how shall they believe in Him, when ears have not received?
And how are they supposed to hear, unless someone will preach?
And how are they to preach the word unless they're sent to each?
How beautiful, the feet of those delivering good news!
Not all obey what they have heard, Isaiah thus once mused.
"Lord, who believed what he has heard from us?" the prophet said.
But faith comes through the word of Christ, its hearing raises dead.
Now faith by works indeed is true, a point I must not shirk,
But only faith that's placed in Him, rests in His finished work.
(from Romans 10)
TELL me, dear, everything which occupies you
LAY each piece out, display your soul
SELL me utterly all components, oldest to new
SAY absolute etirety, without any toll
FEEL my hands reaching musty content gently
DRAWN out painlessly, your dark place
REVEAL shame and sins as though incidentally
TORN from humiliation without a trace
BEGIN to trust your ribcage, competent holder
Of HEART, outlandish desires wrapped
WITHIN terror of memory allowed to smoulder
DEPART from a prison, ribcage relaxed
IMMERSED in latitude, stream jumping joyous
FORGIVENESS view gifts expansion
TRAVEVERSED in unison, a vocalised voyage
DELIVERS cognition spun in tandem
BLUEST of blue moons we nurture, accessible
GIVING your mind renews our reward
TRUEST thoughts I massage make it possible
LIVING with wisdom, sharing one orb
13th November 2020
Written for Contest: In Rhymes Sublime
Sponsor: Joseph May
A falling star met butter fingers,
kissed the pavement rain,
scorched threadbare pocket cloth,
dream vapour in the wet.
Dark smoke was all it brought
to dreary eyes of pain,
and tears crept with sloth
ancient as the sky.
Fresh bile around the grilles,
steaming sweet purgation,
foretell a future day
by entrails of clairvoyance.
A seeing eye fulfils
my blind imagination,
all cats by night are grey,
analogous charcoal shapes.
Someplace else, another room,
where I can spread like plague,
or go unnoticed, lean
old driftwood on the bar.
Sometimes you leave perfume,
a promise bloused and vague,
to linger sight unseen,
I sling my hook to home...
...where you supplant the reasons,
a spell invoked and blissed,
to conjure my induction,
becalm my raging sails.
My angel for all seasons,
components sorely missed,
in spite of this reduction,
no less my world, my love.
The vision of colors
Words that intensify with every varying assortment
When it comes to spectacular, it’s the amazement in what is to come, and what was transcribed
Beauty in every letter in what they provide
Suppose with no oppose
Every thought captured at the right moment of the angle
A Poet composes every night within
Sometimes bright stars or nightmare element dialog
Imagine fireworks surrounded by the dazzle Poet with their own writing explosion
Explosion
The mind with on a river in mine capturing all the components of delight
Picture the Poet like a Lighthouse being a guiding light
Expectation beyond
Fireworks after fireworks
Preparation and detail
Poet on sight
Get ready for the writing explosive night
No look up just a hook up
Razzle and Dazzle
I'm lost in there
battered between form and function
existing in the guesswork
institutionalised by containment
figured out on the block
measured by what takes up space
every layer perfectly in place
to provide freedom to conform
I merge and merge again
despite being part of no plan
unstoppable in my inexplicable existence
tip out my untapped potential
lay me on the table
busy yourself with dissection
broken up into components
I can do no more
cannot be put back together
an empty head
with no view of itself
an offered up cadaver
any day of the week
in one night crystal magic covers forest
forcing trees to bow toward ground
who is boss? Winter asks.
The trees go quietly, genuflecting
without argument, allowing her wrath
and her anger to agitate other forest components
Who is the boss? Winter repeats, wanting
them to give up their respect and their power
The trees hold fast, bending closer to the ground
Not answering, not arguing, not squealing
Their silence more effective than any amount
of words or screams. Winter gets angry and goes away.
Kicking snow up with her foot as she walks through
the months of January and February.
Trees smile at March’s sun, who heats them up
and rescues them.
I am so proud of you! She tells them; you survived
another winter.
Harold John Bray, Jr., Seaman 2C- The last surviving member of the iconic Navy vessel the USS Indianapolis. The Indy was a capitol ship that just returned statewide for major repairs and refitting, following a Japanese Kamikaze attack at Okinawa. Nine members of the crew were killed, a somber time. Harold enlisted in the U.S. Navy the day he turned 17 in 1944. He learned how to drink Navy coffee when he lived in the barracks at the end of Mare Island, California while the ship was being repaired. Every day he would ride a train to the ship until it was ready to set off on a top-secret mission: delivering components of the atomic bomb destined for Hiroshima. On July 30th, 1945, while crossing the Philippine Sea the Indy was struck twice by a Japanese Submarine. It took just 12 minutes for the ship to sink. Approximately (900) of the original (1,195) crew members were able to leap into the water before it went down. For almost four days they floated in the oily and shark invested waters. The survivors watched in fear as they saw their peers being eaten alive and vanishing beneath the sea. After the sharks feasted on the wounded, they left, leaving half of the men still clinging onto hope for life. Many more lives were lost because they drank the salt and oily water. 316 men were rescued not through a search effort, but by pure chance. The Indy tragedy is a tale of haunting endurance, forgotten sacrifice, and the crushing silence that surrounded a mission intended to help end a global war.
aboard the Indy
Harold Bray- seaman 2c
the last survivor
I try day in and day out to escape this hell
Im living a life not mine and nothing you can do can help
You can say “I feel for you, I can only imagine what you're going through,” and well…
Every time I hear that I feel more enclosed in this cell.
Do you know what it's like to feel like a turtle in someone else's shell?
There's no word to describe the things I've felt.
I hurt and the cause is my own fist giving me welts.
How do I save myself from myself?
That's a rhetorical, nothing can; not even wealth
You say things are jokes as they are ripping my skin off my scalp and going straight at my mental health.
I don't want seen, I just want to be able to get by with stealth
But im seen
God cant you just go away with that snarky tone
You look down on me like a king on a throne
After the things that I've shown
Id think you'd have known
That the skins covering my body doesn't even belong on my bones.
Its like im taking skin from the bank and calling it a lone
No matter what i tell myself ill always feel like a drone
Im wires and components put together to create something you can see as your own.
The only person i can relate to is Sisyphus pushing the stone
I hear these people telling me I've grown
But I still see myself as the scared lost boy who couldn't feel comfort in their own home.
There's no escape of this hell, no savior for this earth, no sisyphus for this stone, no hair for this comb, No garden for this gnome, no parts for this drone, no king for this throne.
I am
Alone.