Best Custom Poems
I have the rhythm of a winding road
how do I consign myself to being confined...
rows of poplar pillars prop
the rendezvous canopy beneath we meet
—I self-cajole on ooh-la-la afternoon
yellow eyes; daffodils watching
lean into gossip groups nodding
a prodding breeze instigating deep-freeze—
I am a sweet weed in this place of sway and betray
with a stranger I stroll my arranged betrothed
height of his black top hat challenges trees
much like Corinthian columns
guards of an aisle I must walk —dear God! must walk
trepidation trips down my bridal spinal column
tiger eyes; lilies watching wish they were me
dare they dream they could uproot their roots like me
wish they could wedding waltz like I must —like I must
but their envy-leaves remain embrace-less
—I envy lilies’ empty arms of yet unmet love
daffodils; empty-headed —laugh
they try to read my mind to fill their own
what do I care their curdled thoughts lemon tart
and orange lilies’ brocade brimstone
what do I fear of fire-breathers burn of words
undergrowth feels square heels of my lace-up boots
post impression grows more expressive than first—
beware French tongues of sundew and burdock burr
marriage-carriage rolls in ruts to Versailles
where my coerced corset of hooks and ties lie
rhythm of a winding road dies in minuet strangle-hold
Heart singing,
I race through warm sand;
then fling myself to the breeze!
I take the leap from land to water,
riding roller coaster crests.
Soon my skin will wear
summer’s ink.
Written by Andrea Dietrich 5/17/2015 For the "Give Me a Sign" Poetry contest of nette onclaud
Here's the doodle, way out West
mind's a noodle, not depressed,
searched the Pantry's, not to guess
where's the boot, hat, cowboy's vest!
Fair and Rodeo, next month soon,
all the young'uns needing room
their vacation, munching's boom
cupcakes, chips, the same old tune!
This might work, the cattle breaks
and roping tricks combine to make
the Western motif for land's sake
I'll do their garments as a bake!
Sprig some chocolate on the boots
and colored bits, the vests light up,
and say that Cowboy hat, iced blue,
who can resist this interlude!
While calves are tangled by tossed ropes
these plates of cookies will win folks
and on the fair grounds, horses broke
will highlight ranching moments told!
And at the Bake Shop, not to boast
their pastry goodies had before,
ranch style brings my feelings high,
the colors bouncing upwards score!
Now grab a plate, this will be fun
maybe an entry, I should make
these charming cookies Number One,
should bring the biggest hungry down!
Heh, say Hello
To all your favorites
Rainbow sprinkles a top
a Creamy cold to bite a
i Intense chocolate r
n Butterfinger fudge a
i Banana, vanilla d
n Oh no, Drizzzzzz i
i z Happiness z n
g z Premium z g
z Custom z
z Home L
i made i
n com n
g -fort g
to
its
end.
Y
U
M!
Voila! Specialized Designed Ice Cream Cone
Freedom has been forced out, it is long gone
and on the back of kindness it rode.
Pride spreads the unpleasant atmosphere through its campaign
setting up annexes and covering more zip codes.
Even the joyful melody of happiness
are crippled and void of cheerful nodes
Sweeping off all goodness to leave stones and thistles,
that’s exactly hatred’s kind of abode.
On every signal coming from the offender
fury’s occupation increases, giving peace no road.
The parachute of grievance circumvent round the neck
like the throat stressed by a swallowed living toad.
All these weight and heavy burden can be thrown
done by untying the ropes and activating the mode.
Arms should stay open to the fresh air of forgiveness
and completely be free from this enslaving load.
im just another version of
the centience in you
and if it comes to making love
my pattern you cant do
and i dont mean just physical
im talkin everything
but what i say is literal
you can not match my swing
{I want to make a bird house,
Guess I need these things from Hobby Lobby and Michael's}
÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷
Minimum 50 to maximum 100 popsicle sticks
1 Hot glue gun
with hot glue sticks
1 finger paint
for a illusion seemingly complex design
1 bowl of string yarn
1 paper clip
criss-crossing alternating stacking making a square overlapping stick over stick making four walls and a floor and an "A" shaped flat roof...out of these popsicle sticks so the end result is a custom-built built birdhouse
4/3/20
Written word by James Edward Lee Sr 2020
The truth is never enticing
Like the cleavages of a fallen breast
You lay at the surface your lame lies
But I will dig truth from its daring depth
You murdered her son for little bread
But you claimed your gun was asleep
Your sleeping gun could aim the head
I wonder what it alertness will inflict
You saw him as an evil enemy
For the poor boy was just a traveler
You asked for alms unavailable
And your hunger became your anger
I wondered what he was to you
Maybe a passing meat to be slaughtered
For you made dark a mother sky of blue
And killed her future with just a shot
I wonder if he was the breadwinner
Or his mother's only eye
How heartless you must have been
To leave a blind woman on a mountain high
When I heard I begged for tears to come
But i find my eyes emptied of tears
Wish I was there to pay the little ransom
And save the life of that young man
You killed an elephant to feed the ants
You sold a savior for some pieces of silver
You have done the worst of a lifetime
And that stigma you made remains forever
Why try defend your stupidity
By saying it was an act of carelessness
You couldn't bare the weight of you atrocity
So you hanged it on the shoulders of mistake
If only you had seen him as your son
Would you have mistook you riffle for a toy
If only you had place values to worth
You wouldn't have killed the innocent boy
All wore peanut butter pants
where the world spread jam
As the tailor tried to fit you
in a bread you'd call his clam
And you paid for more than sticky
when a sandwich would expand
And your filling was for others
that your taste was in their hand
And you never knew another
for leaving you alone
When you're made up for the moment
that someone would condone
And were gobbled up for nighttime
when your love was there to be
Joining jam and peanut butter
nightly for the spree
I lay here with you and my mind wanders
through everything we have done, planned,
our future together.
I can't help but think
you were made just for me.
Something I have waited a lifetime for.
You feel so good against my skin.
I've found Heaven in our embrace.
Your curves mesh with me so perfectly
just like a Custom Fit Love.
There once was a man with a head
Like a pumpkin it was, and called Fred
How they laughed in the Spring
At the pumpkin head thing
Oh the sting of rejection, he said
In summer the sun burned a hole
Through his head like a rat or a mole
And no-one ate soup
Made of pumpkin and gloop
So he spent all his days on the dole
By winter he'd started to rot
Far too rank to be put in the pot
Once his head had caved in
He'd be put in the bin
That was whether he liked it or not
But in autumn, around Hallowe'en
All the girls became suddenly keen
And would fight for the right
To have Fred for the night
And display him where he could be seen
He's so big, and he's so very round!
They said as they bought him and wound
Their arms round his girth
(Both for weighing his worth
And for keeping him way off the ground)
His head swelled with masculine pride
And become almost seven foot wide
Which was almost too large
To transport in a barge
Or to fit in a car for a ride
The knife it did tickle a bit
When it went in to slice the first slit
And the spoon bit was tense
For his brains were quite dense
And his lid was quite tricky to fit
But oh, the magnificent sight
With the candle inside and the light!
It's the twinkle they said
In his eyes! Oh how Fred
Did enjoy a good Hallowe'en night!
Pumpkin Fred wasn’t pretty for sure
But on one night a year he would score
The odd treat or trick
That would tickle his wick
As he flickered and winked by the door
© Gail Foster 26th October 2023
Sew your mouth boy
If the words get out they’ll turn
Feed on you like the cows munch
With nothing better to do
With their lives
Darken your eyes boy
If the image makes itself known
They’ll see her photograph in your mind
And will burn it
No hesitation—
Just burn it,
Like the bodies of their loved ones before
them
Where only faint memories can survive,
In the thickness of the ashes.
Wishful thinking cannot change the
judgments’ of a nation
Just as perseverance cannot soar
amongst cultural perception
Your hands are tied boy...
Maybe patience will bring liberation
May I suggest trying a strong cup of tea
When I am distraught, my go-to remedy
A soothing tincture for the addled brain
After a cup or two, I really can’t complain.
I shall take the English at their word
A spot of tea, especially in the afternoon,
Can shed new light on the simply absurd
Restore to normality quicker than soon.
Nothing so hits the spot, I’ve found it so
I enjoy trying the hundreds of varieties
From around the civilized world, though
I most appreciate the Wuyi Oolong teas.
Relaxing, this grand old custom, you know
If you try it, on you it will certainly grow.
Written October 3, 2022
Eyes glaring, love’s deep;
Heart-felt secrets keep;
Burried deep, love is kept;
Heartbreak stirs, lovers wept;
Love fills, hearts loudly pound;
Search no more, love found;
Amber silents, daylight violets;
Custom stares;
Love comes here;
Love is where there is caring faith;
Loves committed grace;
A chance we come together;
Writing this love letter, caressing rhymes;
For all times;
Shall we write together "letters" and "words";
O love of love lets us write nigh...
Come write with me, calvary so lets elaborate,
Shall we, yes we will collaborate
Write together, as time flows
From past to future, love grows
Holding on tight, years pass;
Heart beats, the love lasts;
Love begins at first sight;
shinning, faces show heart light;
Amber silents, daylight violets;
Custom stares;
Love comes here;
Love is where there is caring faith;
Loves committed grace;
A chance we come together;
Writing this love letter, caressing rhymes;
For all times;
Shall we write together "letters" and "words";
O love of love lets us write nigh...
Come write with me, calvary so lets elaborate,
Shall we, yes we will collaborate;
Life's stories, you too will write;
Together, your future is in sight;
Sharing love, Making memories;
Past, Present, Future, lasting stories;
Love's story written, between you two;
Custom Love made, always will be true
Was it the kiss of the July morning sun,
That lit your face with so much glow,
Or the possibility of a meal in an unwary dove,
That lifted the glaring muzzle of my silent gun,
By the stream’s watchful, sleepless flow.
Or the crack in the air of the barrelled whip,
That took the fragility of the morning, by the neck,
Giving the Baker’s sinful snoring an audio check,
As it recoiled and unlocked a well-worn grip,
With a sharp, forceful, stinging snap.
Now that the songs have ended in one big bang, And the acrid smell of gunsmoke hangs in the air, Who will wonder why it ever so freely sang, Who will now rebel to show life's not fair,
And plead justice for a bird and not for hunger.
I choose to eat, even if to nourish their voice,
Perhaps a clean white ceramic bowl of soup,
With soft and chunky pieces of tasty bird meat,
And freedom songs in every delicate, soothing scoop,
Will keep a fight in this old grey dead-beat,
To stand against every longstanding disdain of us;
When I the son of a Leper took for a bride, you
The loveliest and kindest of seven sultry sisters,
Born to a pastor and the matron of a village chorus,
That now in judgment, in a gunfight, awakens too.