Best Concentrates Poems
When God spoke, "Let there be light,"
Nature's response was the Sun.
And in the farthest fringes
of dark space, galaxies spun.
Darkness concentrates shadows,
nothing is quite what it seems.
For yesterday's promises,
were scribbled on dying dreams.
Sol's golden rays of sunlight,
imbues magic to the Day.
And colors cottony clouds,
as Dawn chases Night away.
The Sun's coronal aura,
harbors hope's eternal spark.
And illuminating Day,
golden sunbeams pierce the dark.
We are creatures of sunlight,
that's why we love it so much.
And when basking in its rays,
our hearts revel in its touch.
The Janitor
Poem
Lionel Derbyshire
He takes the wipe and aims
At the drip of urine
He looks and concentrates
With deep ambition to
Wipe it clean and dry.
He marches proudly up and down
And flushes clean what's left behind
He walks here and there
And wipes whenever he can
He keeps it clean.
His face is brutal humble
He does not grumble
It is no trouble
To clean a fumble.
His shoes is shining black
He is tidy neat
Tonight he will
Put food on the table.
And give thanks.
Thank you
Janitor
No one ever says.
Cat – Ugly - Pretty - Ugly
Ugly cat invades us in savage fashion to steal our dinner
We’ll have none of that and kicked it out in the beginning
But it keeps returning though, meowing, growling, and you know
We now have an ugly cat or it has us
Mean, vicious, suffers from malnutrition
Looks at us like we’re delicious
Cannibalistic tendencies
It only eats raw meat
Did I mention it’s malicious?
Looks like cat’s been run over by a bus
Super fussy fur ball of fluff and nasty stuff
Ugly kitty has no place in our existence
Lazy thing makes friends with mice
It hates the smell of cheese and us
And takes pride in being not so nice
Cat has no clue of truth and beauty
We don’t know just what to do
Can’t figure out its longitude and “attitude”
Kitty sits and wishes it was cuter
Good luck with that
It climbs on shelves, destroying things
Concentrates on plates and dishes
Climbing walls, tearing curtains
Leaves mirrors for last to break
To see how pretty he must be
Most small creatures are sweet and cuddly
Not the case with this feline Mr. Ugly
Can’t get close or even figure out its sex
With scratching claws, biting attacks, and flaws
A feline fatality in the making for us all
The monstrosity lost its meow with us somehow
Only howls and growls without a cause
Allies won’t even take it back
It comes from a questionable lineage
Probably won’t reach old age
Deplete of social graces and education
Lacking looks will send it to an early grave
I would like to shoot it but fear it might shoot back
We’re superficial like that
And what type of person shoots the kitty cat?
I mean, in the back
If you fight with fervent heart,
roar of lion from your part,
perhaps true kindness will impart the vengence of a Goddess staved,
the moon now red with the noon's dead,
in your heart I'm sure is dread,for this rite you were not bred,
many times an oracle told: men from feet made of lead
are mercenaries poorly fed; in countless meadows they have bled,
will they toil loyal,paid by your moldy bread?
So go, my foe of woe,wear the royal robe to toe,
and drink the wine bitter slow,
I am Lord of the sword,a righteous king of the horde,
of many Gods I've implored
to smite this monger to the floor,
not for thirst of the gore
but to have a legend's lore,
to protect a People free with me,before you perish it will be!
The priests posture purely now at the front ranks with faces skyward
petitioning to consecrate,
as the cavalry concentrates hard on their horse's fate
feeling the trumpet's terrible,seething sound,
a wilting wind softly weathers the seasoned infantry's instinct
from gaze to green ground,
while they infer the jarring armor jangle of heavy horsemen,
sufficient to strangle reluctance to prostrate,
a low thunder thumps my ears,my spirit leers across,
limbs like gears I raise my battle axe ahigh,
Tepid tepid rain,from whence you came
not the curving cloud but from the adversary's frame,
the color of the warm rain is the magenta stain
of enemy's brain on my horse's mane,
the Bishop busies as assassin,an orthodox art that has always been,
your Knight is nigh,about to die,
J.A.B. Part Two -
Who is this guy that sneaks around lightly
Then slinks behind his desk so quietly
He just sits at his desk and pretends to take calls.
But I noticed he actually does nothing at all.
His eyes focus in, on the girls in the office.
He constantly visits the room where there is coffee.
He smiles as a sweet beautiful lass passes by.
Never looking her straight in the eyes.
Instead his stare concentrates on her chest.
When out of range he whispers, "WOW! What a nice set."
Then back again to his desk he retreats.
And returns to his terrible, obnoxious, lazy streak.
But one of these days he will lose his great job.
And so will become an unemployed slob.
David Pennington
Copyright ©2008 David Pennington
His hands are mesmerizing;
They move with easy grace.
With wide palms and long fingers,
He stirs this breathless place.
His melody is haunting;
It strikes my deepest chord.
His hands pluck at my heartstrings,
Touch regions unexplored.
I can't help but imagine
Just how those hands would feel
Playing tunes against my skin -
A world of notes unsealed.
He concentrates so deeply,
Immersed in making art.
And here I sit - Pathetic!
Jealous of a damned guitar!
The circles of the bloody moon,
slide Northward towards the Rive Nile,
Death and raven drift above,
As mother guards her nest with pride.
The nightingales are singing near,
The nightly winds leave the door ajar,
The big bellied old man, unfamiliar,
Shows fatigue on his face, so clear.
The sheer brilliance of Mother's many vibrant colors,
fills my heart with such unwavering joy,
As she pulls and folds the table cloth,
She sings with the bloody wood, such joy.
The silent man, like a mocha brown ape,
sprawls at the window sill and gapes,
Mother brings in the mango slices,
Bananas, oranges and the summer grapes.
The silent vertebrate in brown,
smiles the frowns then concentrates then withdraws,
then the silent bellied man in brown,
tears at the fruits with his murderous paws.
And still Mother's lovely grin,
circumscribe her dazzling white denticle,
as this man tears into these mango slices,
she looks at him in adulation, such a spectacle!
The president extols his bravery,
praises his performance.
The media berates his mission,
questions his integrity.
His wife waits and hopes,
sends photos of the children.
Musicians write his story;
his mother prays for safety.
He dons fighting gear,
second nature to him now,
pushes away thoughts of home,
concentrates, focuses
on the present hour.
He's just doing his job,
defending the cause,
fighting for freedom.
Our engagement started early
One Thursday back in may
I had prepared my speech days before
Anticipating today.
Birds aware and singing
The trees are in full bloom
My lady is sleeping peacefully
Only to be awoken soon.
Breakfast made & waiting
Candles glowing with an apple scent
The sounds of Ray Charles' playing
Everything's right, it's time.
Just then her arms embrace me
Around my torso from the back
She kissed my neck, it tickled
A grin appears I laugh
A look of shock appeared
As I dropped one knee
Her eyes start forming tears
As she concentrates on me
With confidence I ask
" Will you be my wife?
Be with me now and in death,
Living one complete life."
"Yes!!" She said with joy
Hugging and kissing me with delight.
"I've been waiting for so long,
Your timing was just right."
I've written a little something
A verse for you to hear.
This will be my vow to you
So relax, get comfortable
And lend me your ears.
You're the air that I breathe, and the glow in my soul.
You're everything I've envisioned, there is nothing I
want more. With every passing day, and every year
that you are mine. My love for you will grow infinite,
my wife until and past the end of time. I respect
everything you stand for, I'll back you when times get
rough. The bond we share is unbreakable, so yes!!
Love is enough....
Jared Pickett
9/01/09
Asavvy1
The black smooth rough hide of midnight dark
Rivulets of dusty sweat leaping off
As he ran and dodged and feinted and attacked
The man, day-glo matador, flashing eyes and sword.
The baying crowd dry-throating the challenge and the curse
The black leaping forward to the cloak-cape-wall
Swelling eyes, and angry mind, a spear a jockey
Deep in his side, bouncing and jolting, searing stab.
The folds of the cape enfold his head and horns
His blindness concentrates the pain of the blade’s harpooning
His tempter bullet spins, back facing his final havoc wrought
Ivory hook of gristle, piercing the skin, kissing the heart, extinguishing the lights.
Over burning canefields black soot ash
on an east wind past my balustrade blows,
and big white pelicans the riverine splash
their dive pouch longbills in the shallows.
Windsurfers, sailboats, and rowers in row
pass up and down in their wake across,
and fishermen in the Cod Hole below
sit reeling in their boats off Mykonos.
Beyond my Grecian villa walls of stone
a great bridge does cross the river’s divide,
and the Maroochy water’s gentle groan
concentrates my mind ‘twixt moon and tide.
When the sun is low and the moon high
fly a plague of bats just passing through -
sipping a wee tincture of scotch in my dry
puffing a wee willem on the avenue.
Girl, like The Iliad it’s all Greek to me
and soon a new life and bridge to cross,
but before the two of us become three
I write my postcard from Mykonos.
Beyond my Grecian villa walls of stone
a great bridge does cross the river’s divide,
and the Maroochy water’s gentle groan
concentrates my mind ‘twixt moon and tide
Written: October 1999
The Gift of Healing
A friend of mine is a 'healer', of the spiritual kind,
She uses Crystals, Incense and concentrates her mind,
To channel all her energies, to bring you some relief,
She can heal your spirit, without need for your belief.
I too can heal I told her, with a little twinkle,
But I use pies and sponges, and a little sprinkle,
Whisking up my sugars, creaming them with dairy,
left on every doorstep, from the 'Baking Fairy'.
The recently bereaved, the lonely and the ill,
My offerings soothe their soul, better than any pill,
Just one or two slices, from the sweetest cake,
And made with my compassion, a Spiritual Bake.
So, if you're sad and lonely, or have chicken pox,
You may open your front door, to find a little box,
Open up that ribbon and take a slice of tart,
Made with love from me to you, to lift your heavy heart.
...and she can, can,
she is better than a man, man
she's a woman...
she understands, how life works...
she eliminates all jerks...
no time for self destruction...
for mind games, or corruption...
she knows there is no real cure
she concentrates, her heart is demure...
she's powerful, carved her own path
left her past behind...
she has observed many combination's
many different situations,
strengthen her own foundations
knows herself,
and with she she stands...
this prize...this gem...
this gift from up above
feeds my soul with strength alluring
In this gem I am believing...
Yes, I know, I should be alongside.
Age and bad knees
dictate that I am inside the cab
with a long, green leash
so Katie can run close by
every morning,
for the last seven years
in rain, snow and sunshine.
She runs in earnest ( can a dog do that ? )
Her tongue is back against her cheek.
Her ears scan and sweep
and swivel around
left and right
listening for something ahead
or behind
as she gallops, trots,
saunters, paces
at my side.
Sometimes in the dark,
sometimes, just as the sun is coming up,
but always in the morning,
when the smells
of the deer and elk
are still fresh in the grass
and the berry bushes
along the fence.
I love to see her run. I love to hear her run.
I can hear the jangle jangle of her tags and her collar --
her leathery, black ears flapping against her head.
her breathing and sometimes
a snort or puff as her strong, wide paws hit their mark
ker-plop, ker-plop.
Nails dig into the ground
little wisps of grass and dirt, flying.
Now, her ears are back over her head and
the leathery tips almost touch
as her back legs push
like a rabbits
working in time
driving her faster.
When the snow is here
her feet beat their rhythm
in the icy white stuff.
Crunch, crunch, crunch,
the first marks in the snow,
and maybe -- the
marks, in line with the truck's tracks,
there
the next morning.
When she stretches all the way out
in a full run, her tongue is out --
far out of her mouth,
almost lashing against
her cheek.
Her strong back legs
the rounded, hard muscle under the shiny, black coat,
push her along
and I wonder
how all those legs and feet work
in synchronization
as she concentrates on her task
or has her eye
on something ahead
that she has got to get to
now!
Remonstrations, protestations, recriminations
In the wake of a calamity that strikes below the belt
In communities decimated and disabled by insinuations
Brought to a head when fickle feelings melt
As tempers in embers flare
In scenarios of utter disbelief prompted by dysfunctions
In families with implicit love deficit declare
A truce among gladiators lest functions
Held in high esteem at best
Considered tenuous at worst in the light of evidence
Adduced by a traditional herbalist to test
Depth and strength of balance, cadence, credence
In norms hitherto perceived as golden standard
In matters of natural justice
Scoring above or below zero on a scorecard displayed with prominence on a placard
Denounce the injustice
Shown and grown with no iota of shame to collect and dissect scalps
Carried, harried, buried six feet under
In Utopian Alps
Reeking of the stench of blunder and thunder by a gander who considers gender
A taboo with tattoos of blame
Training, staining, raining participants to a cabal
With the lame name
Ordinarily thought banal
Strut the shame a family feels
At a low point in the life
It purports to live when squealing eels
Swimming in family ponds and puddles of strife
Stick a sharp knife
Into taboos of bamboos it desecrates
As a funeral fife
Consecrates and concentrates cancer crates
To wind up a discourse of the mute
While weeping eyes
Refuse yielding to coercion to recruit
Sties, ties, flies and pies teeming with lugubrious lies.