Best Dry Run Poems
Before we implode or reach cluster one
What do you want from me, as you humans dry run
We are Poles apart in what you and I do
Marooned you will be, if you don't turn to be true
I am only but a sphere, but your wearing the inside out
Our futures lost for words as we enter life's drought
There is time for dialogue to take it back
Will it be a great day for freedom, or will we enter our black
Around the table of powers we have to keep talking
We had high hopes when we stooped, we may cease to stop walking
It beggars belief that we are heading into strife
Maybe one day we'll acknowledge, that were coming back to life
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/music-3.php
Catastrophe of the dry run
The sea, Ice, air, human are rapture
The powerful are brought to ruin
Green horse making this World hot
70% is absorbed in heat
18 degrees Celsius balance the heat
Mighty keeper of water in the lands
Mighty destroyer of Islands
Changing, charging chastising
The atmosphere
I see, I am part of your activities
Burning of coal activities
Carbon emission, 34%. 2020 activities
350,000 in Britain suffered your hands.
65,000 Dominican Republic feel your hands
500,000 in southern California left home to avoid your hand
Denmark gathered the heads cos of your hand.
The heads accept to make peace.
If only it will go to the heart.
Oh mighty one, tell me how to keep peace,
Is it more of vegetation, so I keep peace?
Or keep away carbon dioxide
Nitrous oxide and methane
for peace.
Mighty one, tell me
How you can lie low, for peace
I know I used more than
I put back to you.
Should I have my own forest?
But I know sunspots and solar flares started before me.
REASONS OF WRITING
This poem was writing out of inspiration on hearing and reading how this atmosphere has been badly used and the follow events caused by bad emission to the air, the changing in almost every natural events gave rise and when the heads of states gathered in Denmark to plan for the way forward. It is my contribution on how this atmosphere can be made for a better condition for us all to stay in.
MESSAGE
(1) This poem is a free verse, it run through without break, saying the major event that global warming has cause in the world.
(2) That the heads of states decision in Denmark should be put into practice not mouth say.
(3) That before man (human) started anything sunspots and solar flares started before man
(4) We use more than we put back to nature.
(5) That green vegetations is also a way forward.
(6) Everyman should have his/her own or plant his/her own forest it is possible.
The mythical fates had a dubious task
Sewing the cloth of life for men
“How did that work?” you ask
Well, get three sisters who sew
Give each one a specific job.
When done, down the tubes you go.
Anyway get the picture…its destiny
Clotho sews the cloth of life
Putting in all the events for a person
Joyful time or existence filled with strife
It was then that life could improve or worsen
Marriage, children, oops…divorce, of course
Married again, children, oh no….divorce
You forgot to remember…don’t use force
Or, you’ll wind up in the pokey like any dark horse
Lachesis the much important second sister…
Her job was vast and excitingly dire
The name was a tongue twister
Yet, imagine the names of all the men
Placed in a big jug…she’s been hired
To draw a name---uh oh…what did you win?
A one way trip up to angels or down to be fired
No matter ready or not, you’re officially a “has been.”
Well, are you ready for the third little lady?
Just so you know Atropos means death
Now let’s review…here’s a dry run.
Sewer, drawer…so what’s left?
Someone has to use the cutters
This third gal chops it off---life’s cloth
Word is she does not even sputter
One whack and a snip—it’s like flame to the moth.
Best advice…be careful when you refer to fate
These little old ladies take offense…uh, oh too late!
On the outskirts
of a line comprised
of two landscapes;
The distinction
is lost on how you've
managed to captivate me.
Afar, my pupils study
you several times over;
succeeded by dry run
thoughts yearning
to be verbalized.
Words escape me
walking on tiptoes,
holding on the possibility
that if heard, they
stumble not to the fore
of inexistence. Due to
clocks power, a measure
of petite conversations formulate
in between. My aroused pupils
correlate with yours...(SIGH) Your
soul accompanied by the brown sand you're comprised of
is indeed...
Exquisite.
Pace, G INK-U-SCRIPT
Finding poetry dull
and bored out my skull
(a wasted pun this early in the write)
listless and drained
knocked on my brain
to share with the voices my plight
The head voice, Jack
peeped through a crack
sighed: "Our host wants to visit, the pest
have we time to entertain
one who abandoned his brain
now sporting two brain cells at best?"
Much to my chagrin
loud snickers from within
"Pretty please, a word if I may?"
"No time to chat
we're celebrating, so scat
it's International Imagin'ry Friends Day."
Flo (soft on me)
her voice husky:
"Might as well tolerate the bore
besides", (giggle, giggle)
"I'm up for a wiggle
Nobody's lain me in two or more."
"Two years ago
or two months, Flo?"
"Nay, two hours of abstinence I'd had to survive
scarce opportunity
in this sparse community
to appease and keep a body alive."
As I stepped inside
shocked out my hide
my imaginaries had been on the breed
my tribe once twenty
upwards of seventy
all races and colors; no discernible creed
I stared transfixed
at the veritable mix
males and females, neuters too, mind
all shapes and shades
an entire brigade
a maelstrom of unhuman-kind
I stood aghast
jaw at half-mast
"Brood, your behavior is contemptuous
you've busily mated
but you're all related
your liaisons are highly incestuous."
"We're not blood-pumpers
we're merely humpers
products of inane fabrication
and furthermore
you first-class bore
a figment of your 'magination."
"Two hours 40 seconds
of deprivation I reckon
too long I've endured a dry run
enough of fabrications
and blood-y relations
Mr Host, are you up for fun?
I'll consult my lawyer
for an eviction order
my voices have gone perverse
the whole lot to go
except of course Flo
the inspiration for my none-too-clean verse
******************************
2013-10-05
Why marrying today
And divorcing tomorrow?
Marriage is not dry run
or dummy run
Marriage is not hubbub
or rehab
Marriage is not hotchpotch
or hodgepodge
Marriage is not playing ground
or top - security prison
Marriage is not horror drama
or terror contest
Marriage is not pushing button
or punishing arena.
Why marrying today
And divorcing tomorrow?
From the street to become
a wife of someone
From being a wife to become
a street woman player
Why marrying today
And divorcing tomorrow?
From your parental house
to your husband 's house
Living like in paradise garden
or hell lake fire,
No blame to your parents,
As your heart burnt by strong love,
You decided to live togather till to death.
Marriage is not something
to play with,
Marriage is a strong union
of a man and woman
who decided to live
togather till to death.
April 02/2023
By Alfonso Warally Ngengethe Mussabwa Chris
Target identified,
a job to do.
Take it out
by next Friday.
Watch it's moves,
get prepared.
Pick the method,
dry run through.
Check equipment;
all working.
Don't stand out,
merge with the crowd.
A true professional;
a face, a dollar,
nothing personal.
It leaves the hotel,
the time has come.
Words are shot;
a suicide tonight.
Knowledge is lethal,
speech can kill.
Before we implode or reach cluster one
What do you want from me, as you humans dry run
We are Poles apart in what you and I do
Marooned you will be, if you don't turn to be true
I am only but a sphere, but your wearing the inside out
Our futures lost for words as we enter life's drought
There is time for dialogue to take it back
Will it be a great day for freedom, or will we enter our black
Around the table of powers we have to keep talking
We had high hopes when we stooped, we may cease to stop walking
It beggars belief that we are heading into strife
Maybe one day we'll acknowledge, that were coming back to life
Turmoil
Transplanted from native soil.
No warning.
No dry run.
Thrown into turmoil.
Few skills.
No plumage.
Lost sense of direction.
Confused.
Still waving arms.
Mine was counter number nine I heard
No one there what a relief
I sat to be told you next
Where? At ten; nine is off now.
Saw a real American woman
Finger scans each applicant
From behind a big glass screen;
It scared me to confront her.
From all the courage I could muster
Coaxed myself to take the turn
Choked throat, dry mouth came up front
Holding on to my file bag;
So they redo scans again I thought
Look for space to place papers
"Put them on the crucible ledge"
She said in a mild simple tone;
I could not meet her eyes and shivered
Put hands as fast as I could
Let left fingers fall in line
Pressed hard at each grip to scan;
"Too dry run the tips over your cheek,
Like this" and gave her first smile;
Ran both hands over my cheeks
With left over, moved for right;
"Perfect will do" she smiled back at me
Just ID checks, saw my relief
Beyond 'lip service' she had come
To sequester my heart beats:
Ten Kinds of Quiet
David J Walker
Some are messages
Floating in a sunburst breeze
Catching in limbs of
Sycamore trees
Meant for me
But only those
That I could read
While swiftly flying by
Meanings modified
In a rising sun
The day has begun
Traffic lights
Coffee shops
A dry run of
Conversations
Taking place later
Rather than sooner
Sometime today
There are ten kinds of quiet
Or so I have read
Nothing said
In the rest of the mornings
contemplations
Ridden Hard, Put Up Wet
Worn down landscape
Ridden hard and put up wet over eons of time.
Buttes interspersed with ravines and wadis,
Vast irregular symmetry.
Clumps of purple blue green sage
To have been seen by the riders of olden times.
Clusters scattered randomly.
A patchwork without design
Covering endlessly to the horizon
Intermingled with beef and horse.
The buttes come in irregular waves of shapes and sizes.
Conical breasts sprung up in ridges,
Or sometimes alone at the sky line.
Isolated flat tops
Or long Capetown table mountains;
African ant hill shapes,
Crenulated with skirts of vertical old rivulet stripes.
The overstory of bare hard scrabble thin land
Draped to the side of the ravines
Exposing the layers of understory limestone below.
Sentinel wood line posts, strong with wire, guard the narrow highway
That rolls with the landscape.
Occasional cotton wood ribbons
Crosses the roadway over the sign ‘Dry Run Creek’ which still remains dry until the rain comes.
All this
Served under the banner of blue sky
Shredded with a mare’s tail wisp of clouds
7/13/2020
Every time your nervous
hands run
over my
body I am
left
breathless giggling
wishing
my lips could
wildly
run on
you in retaliation
Can’t Undo A Done
Written: by Miracle Man
11-10-2019
Our choices are never do-overs,
Once past, they’re etched in stone.
While we may get second chances,
We pay for bad judgment shown.
Reckless decisions are made each day,
Which may result in scant or plenty.
But each choice had a diverging side,
And “hindsight is twenty-twenty”.
If we’ve taken advice from a friend,
And their choice became our load.
Though abstract ideas may interface,
It’s unclear,“until the rubber meets the road.”
But one thing we’re assured of,
Life affords us no dry run.
So get it right the first time,
Because you can’t undo a done.
I dream of reliving my heart’s past fall.
To marry again and bear the long haul.
I long to long.
To sing that song.
One day I will lock in the courage.
One day photos will find the fridge.
For now I must simply yield to stall.
Readying my boat before the waterfall.
I dry-run this until my skin peels off.
I pray I will be ready for takeoff.