Best Driest Poems
Ah, Divine influence, it has come to many, so they say,
as to their nameless or named God’s they do pray.
The light came to Carroll, he said he could see,
for raised by a Vicar at Christ church was he.
Dodgson was his surname an apt moniker
for he veers of from his father, made math his liqueur
Lewis was Charles tongue in cheek, he wore hats
and from his birth place, he transformed Cheshire cats.
Lewis Carroll wrote “Alice” sure, he was also Charles Dodgson
but who wrote the marrow, now that’s where the God comes!
Now, many men wrote the Bible or so we surmise
and the pages they garnered came in random sizes.
Yes they picked, they plucked, these men were right scary
and what do you know, left out the Book of Mary!
Now you modern readers just might take a note
the resemblance twixt Alice and Mary's no anecdote.
Dogdson, yes Carroll, knew Mary so it seems
yet, Alice sweet Alice is who came in his dreams.
Carroll clothed Alice and it's no surprise
that in Chapter 3:21, her dress he seeks dried!
For Alice, dear Alice, did not wish to die!
“She would catch a bad cold if she could not get dry.”
Carroll being the kind creator, he would
had the mouse read to Alice the driest of books.
Again and again, his benevolence is shown
when he sends Alice a rabbit to soon lead her home.
So, we are lead on in most delightful detail
to Chapter 4:15 where her flight is curtailed.
As Cain slew Abel, so the Queen beheaded prates.
Yet, she’d no power at all, over bodiless cats!
Now, Chapter 12 is truly my favorite, as you may surmise
Lewis Carroll has dreamed much of caterpillar size..
He dreamed a whole world full of goodness and villainy.
As anyone can see, men will see what they see,
and the Looking Glass has as much meaning to me
as the Bible may have to the Christians, let be.
Categories:
driest, allegory, devotion, fantasy, introspectionmen,
Form:
Quatrain
Incandescent emotion
Spills and
Tumbles from pen to page
Iridescent love
Leaps gracefully
Like a gazelle from the
Lion's claws, as the safest
Oasis rises into
View.
Expectation of inspiration
Eradicates those dark emotions
Vividly transforming
Every
Rhyme.
Yet,
The world of things
Haunts the proposed
Innocence of these words.
No
Guilt
Will
Eclipse the bright
Sunshine of some of the
Happiest refreshing moments.
Alone with my thoughts, but still
Raptured and ever grateful for
Every beautiful spirit-filled
Drink to dissolve the driest darkness
CV
3rd December 2023
Categories:
driest, baptism, beautiful, drink, friendship,
Form:
Acrostic
Copper blooms, titanium too below the iron of the sky
Rich fields of ore, quarried, lay everywhere without a quarrel
In conjunction with all things shiny on the land and rust of day
Mountains pinnacles are miles high
With gold draped cliffs of drifting yellow beads of brass
Green vegetation grows around them to quell their worries
Reaching to be free from electricity, thermal conductivity
Streams that run along the fields of metal valley mines
Gray with aluminum strands soft and solvent
Punctuate the landscape up above
Anodizing, analyzing, thinking they are zinc
So much of zinc below the solid surface riches
All this to be discerned by proper science expeditions
Metal machines gather what they need to feed their kind
Golden days, silver nights, tongues of tungsten
Wrap themselves around themselves for warmth
Metalloids are not yet born or forged
Malleable to shaping when they come
Some nonmetallic friends stop by to see the young
Marble and silicon are spies
Disclosed, exposed as such
Despised, disposed of for their corrosive side and lies
Platinum dressed in blue arrives
Stays to take a smoke or two
Smoldering in a blistering sun
Smelted, furn-aced for the future
To be tempered into something smooth
To contemplate the truth with other alloys
Query how all metals can be used
How Earth can hold itself together with the ores
Both in the ground and in the metal fields outside
To lay aside barren lands their souls in sun for warmth
Metal-tate a way to feel the force
They carry on and need no water
Of course rocks are most jagged and driest on mountain tops
They yield the finest metals, minerals at their pinnacles up there
And where suns furnace first glowed on
Touched the tip of Earth
Up there still, refines, defines the metal fields
9/22/14 Pinnacle - Poetry Contest
Categories:
driest, creation, earth, imagery, life,
Form:
Free verse
There was a castle on a hill
It only took hours to build
Buckets and buckets of sand
Two pairs of children's hands
A vacant high spot on the beach
Just out of the low tides reach
Two kids, plastic shovels and pails
Construct a castle minus hammers and nails
The ground floor must be the driest
As water seeps down from the highest
A little shovelful here and there
Customized architectural repairs
A spectacular four story sight
The envy of Frank Lloyd Wright
Onlookers and passers by
Give congratulatory high fives
There's not much time to gloat
Changing tide is filling the moat
Once the water spills over the side
The sand will swim out with the tide
an original poem by Daniel Turner
Categories:
driest, beach, creation, fun,
Form:
Rhyme
We had lived the
most immortal of
times
Draught the biggest
circle of the
happiness
Carried the love to
the largest angles
together
Do you remember?
Had rains rained in
the driest seasons
Assorted hopes we
had grown up inside
of us
How yearnings those
were we kept secret
Do you remember?
We had a song that
was the most
sorrowful of the
songs
I had poems, i used
to read to you verse
by verse
And then, we used to
look eye into eye
long and long time
Do you remember?
Didnt we cry much
you without me, me
without you
Didnt we run much
from the shadow of
seperation?
How many times we
hold our hands to
God
Do you remember?
And then why the
leaves of the
happiness turned
into yellow
And then why we
dried the hopes and
yearnings one by
one?
Yet, a tree we were,
grows flowers arm by
arm, gives fruit
Do you remember?
That's the way it
is, a dark train was
enough to seperate
us
I couldnt even wave
you a handkerchief
And thus lonely, and
thus without you i
remained
Do you remember?
Now in the empty
vagoons i am looking
for you
Memories, i am
living all over
again
It is not up to me,
i remember you
I dont know if you
ever
Remember me?
Categories:
driest, sad,
Form:
ABC
On early Friday evening I get everything ready for a long fishing trip,
having checked out the weather, I'd be ready by Saturday afternoon;
and while driving I'll sing lyrics louder than a happy coon...
my tenor voice wouldn't be muffled by an incoming ship!
The landscape is still wild...you may see a fox running after a wildcat;
aren't the Rockaways a delight to explore before a storm threat?
If there's a spot on the driest rock, I'll stand on it
and start fishing until the blue shore turns dark!
My poodle barks at kids making the ugliest faces...
thinking they want to attack me and do me harm;
oh, he's very protective of me! Oh, his affection amazes!
I keep on fishing by padding his head with my right arm!
Two hours have passed and I haven't caught any blue fish or squid,
and being so disappointed, I would love to call it quit...
but wait, something is making my fishing pole shake:
if the earth's plates are colliding, there'll be no tender fish on my plate!
Whatever happens, it's a delightful day to catch fish;
would ultra violent sun rays give me a bad sunburn if I used no lotion?
And although I'm bored, I intend to stay longer to fill up my bucket to its rim,
but surprisingly something pulls my long fishing cane down: it's sheer elation!
Categories:
driest, happiness, sea, summer,
Form:
Rhyme
Bacchus only wept
in summertime's driest days
when drought killed the vine
Categories:
driest, allegory, depression, sad,
Form:
Haiku
SONORAN SUMMER
The river has run dry, its dripless bed is empty, and
Crossing the flower carpet dim and dusty, parched
Penstemon and brave little brittlebush,
Expecting an inundation, stretch in a rush -
Spreading petals and leaves which their wetted
Wilted tapestry of color weaves - but they fast
Revert to survival tactics and retract petals, in the
Yearly drought of the Sonoran summer.
.........................................................
Note.
The desert of Sonora, Mexico, is one of the driest in the world, making plant life there very uncertain.
Categories:
driest, flower, nature,
Form:
Alliteration
to be a single woman in
america & aging to boot,
one must have breasts that sing to
the air (that never fall, that never
sag, that never do anything but
what the magazines show on
their covers).
to be a single woman in america
& aging, one must have an ass that
is firm (never dropping, never getting
too big, never getting too small,
always looking perfect in the tightest
of clothes, never doing a thing but
what the magazine covers say).
to be a single woman in america &
aging, one must have lips so lush that
they make one dream of the juiciest
fruits---they must have eyes that sparkle
like the sky or make one dream of the
deepest seas, all out of obligation to
whatever the magazine covers say.
to be a single male in america &
aging to boot,
one must have pockets that jingle,
that are flush with cash, that hold
a checkbook that never runs out of
checks---one must have a bank account
that makes Fort Knox look like a
Pez dispenser, so that they can make it
rain in the driest of places,
abiding by what all the magazines
say.
to be a single male in america & aging,
one must have property, one must have
assets, one must have a house in a different
area code gaining rental money, an apartment
in a tropical area, a mansion in the hills &
a place to “get away” from everything else,
hidden in an undisclosed location---
just like the television reveals,
just like all the playas in the videos &
the movies.
to be a single male in america & aging,
one must have a full head of bustling hair,
abs that one can scrub wet clothes on to
get off the dirt (or that can help whittle down
wood when one can’t find a knife),
one must have a gluts that can have quarters flipped
off them & biceps that can wrap around
& crush like the strongest python (bench twice
your weight, jump high, run fast, squat squat
squat & save the goddamn world)---
just like on the big screen.
Categories:
driest, life, woman, dream, america,
Form:
Free verse
Bony bona fide bones bare bones
Skeleton key turning a bone of contention
Sticks and stones break bones words do hurt close to the bone
Not so funny hitting funny bone hard words break no bones
Depends who is speaking old school don’t be an idle bonehead
Be like dog with a bone gnawing it till tomorrow
His word a fire in my bone true to the bone envy is rottenness
To the bone a broken spirit driest the bone don’t be chilled to the bone
Pleasant words health to the bone so bones may rejoice
Working fingers to the bone be not wise in thine
Own sight fear the Lord depart from evil a bone to pick
Dead man’s chest be not filled with dead men’s bones
Prophecy to bones dem dem bones come together again
Look to the cross not to skull and bones crossed bones
Playing bones Yo ho ho Rome’s smoked filled bottle
They grind bones to make their bread who Jesus has freed
Don’t point that bonier finger but back in the closet
Not a bone was broken as he died for our sins
Or you may be a bag of bones chilled to the bone
Being bone dry baring your own sin upon your bones
He is bone of my bone empty tomb make no bones about it
Categories:
driest, allegory, faith, words, funny,
Form:
Free verse
a grandfather clock in the corner of the
room turns its grayhead and sounds.
it is the hour of salt... it is the hour of aged reason.
and i have lost all affection for the sweet naval of
oranges, which clamor one on top of another
on the kitchen table.
perhaps if i was an expressionist
i would express in driest terms the preservation
of ramses II, or the way of the fermented dill
pickles in the back of my refrigerator.
it is the hour of the second cup of coffee,
it is the hour of the coptic eulogy, and i am
as horus or osiris in the twelfth dynasty
at midnight.
now in the kitchen three chairs sit crookedly
next to me. with crystaline hands i gather
upon the table morton salt from the cupboard
and pour it into a gray dispenser.
i set it next to the fruit bowl with ornate
green vines drawn along the sides of it.
but it is the dried antiquities of cumin and
saffron that i seek.
i seek the harbinger of life after life.
but all i have is a 15 jar tiered spice
rack sitting on a shelf across the room
and a little less time.
Categories:
driest,
Form:
fingertips typing and soul trips
a beautiful crow on crescent stem sits
a hot cup of wisdom from it he sips
a golden leaf pray to never leave
a womb of stories and a burden to conceive
a digital nomad from face to face he made a book
some search for how to look, some love how they look
king of sand seal your metaphor
in silicone Valley they can't stand the allure
tesla ate the bait a wireless prophet ripped for profit
the mummy laughed, what's a radioactive civilization with empty tummy
the capitalist and the commy, I know your hermaphrodite mommy
have you seen black eyed sunny
a brother with no brother or sister, nothing but a soul blister
a husband with no wife, oh what a life
a father with no children, like the moon to buzz aldrin
a lover who went undercover
and that's the nature of the pilgrim
seven billion suns yet we see only one
wolf howling from sadness and love madness
from the carnivorous to the pathetic nose pierced punk
even when submarine, you could be sunk
the rock bottom and lessons in stock
the driest of cores lies in the most submerged rock
I guess that's why sobriety must be dry
there's a lie in every truth, there's a truth in every
matters of the perfect alibi
and the tree still stands and the root still expands
Tamer Hossam
Categories:
driest, beautiful, color, creation, deep,
Form:
ABC
Busy keeping watch over sheep.
Angel appears - they would not sleep.
The shepherds walked at a quick pace,
To look upon the Christ child’s face.
They found him lying on the straw.
Baby Jesus is who they saw.
God’s Son entered the human race.
They’d look upon the Christ child’s face.
Still pinching themselves at the sight,
remembering the angel-light.
Heaven’s hosts came from hiding place.
They’d look upon the Christ child’s face.
“Do not be afraid! There’s good news!”
The angels exclaimed to the Jews.
Embodiment of holy grace.
They’d look upon the Christ child’s face.
“Glory to God in the highest.”
Hard to say whose eye was driest
as shepherds trekked to his birthplace.
Tears fall upon the Christ child’s face.
“There’s peace on whom God’s favor rests.”
The highest calling manifests.
His mother holds Him in embrace.
They’d look upon the Christ child’s face.
12/18/2021
Nativity
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Categories:
driest, christmas,
Form:
Kyrielle
If only the sun is forever blue and bright
I will have the perfect tan I ever wanted
And the heart will glow as shiny as the face
If only the rain drops on the driest soil
resurrect the withering flowers and dying crops
Alongside nourishing the forgotten memories
If only the thunders and lightening’s sporadic visits
Not to intimidate the dogs and cats
But to awaken the dormant sensation
If only the sunset does not overplay its perfect beauty
mesmerize the already intoxicated lovers
That the ending of the day is not an anticlimax
Rather the norm of life
Categories:
driest, feelings,
Form:
Free verse
I often lose myself
Amidst webs
Of weens and oneirisms.
I've built there
A diminutive colossus,
Of my little big imaginations.
There, even the driest martini
Moistens my parched saliva,
And soothes my soul.
And the sounds of silence deafens
The chaos within,
Which otherwise makes my heart thole.
Uncontested race with,
Unknown identities and,
Known strangers becomes easy to win.
With noticeable absence,
And quiet presence,
Of childish reluctance makes no sin.
There, cremated births,
Living dead and suicide victims
Are found missing.
For oneirism it is,
Where life can go on even,
With a small honey wrapped kissing.
~Nayanika Dey
©1942016
Categories:
driest, beauty, desire, dream, philosophy,
Form:
Free verse