Best Fence Poems
Featuring: Keith :)
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Fresh sand garments
The Mental Colosseum floor
Self-infliction's--waging wars
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~ AND THE POEM BEGINS ~
A mask, tiny holes
Breathing heavily
Dancing around my toes
Broad carbon steel
Safe behind my will
Equipment of revenge
Fencing the world with my eyes
I bow, with the morning dew,
My mind a dual in its own world.
When the curtains lift,
I prepare myself with a weapon--
Epee Crest to protect my chest
A sword sharper than fangs
I circle my blade around the door knob
Ready to face the world
Practicing --in hopes today, I won't retreat
“Fencers ready!"
ATTACK!
A magical knightress
Painted in white
"Let's dance!"
~ THE SHOW BEGINS ~
Queen Amri "VS" The Damsel
Wishing it was over
Stainless steel echoes
“Every poke counts”
Hoping & Taking
No room to disengage ---I retreat
Peacefully I secure my stance
On Guard!
I lean in, I disengage ---I flee
Back again, I lunge
The Queen is too smart to retreat
I -Amri, parry away from the argument of the lunge.
Recoil & Double tapped
In and out….. I'm struck
Boldness---
Back to the drawing board
On guard, I stand like a statue
Out of breath; feels like I'm dying
Yet I am still fighting.
The Queen knows what to do.
TODAY~
I Yield, She Wins!
Raising our foils
---At the on guard of another day
I move in swiftly, cutting like razor blades
Using refreshed energy
24 / 7
I attack, She provokes!
Sand runs its course
Victorious against the queen
Touch – tied – triumph -- Touché
Standing on my own 2 feet
I am the
-Grand Finale Show-
Conquering The Battles Inside
TODAY~
-I WIN!-
by; PD
Will You See Truth Beyond That Dark Stone Fence
Can you feel true heart in early dawn's light
soft grace and gentle winds in Spring's new flight.
Can soul feel Nature's benevolent course
from open mind, mankind's weakness divorce?
Hear morning doves as they sing out soft calls
let kindness escape from imprisoned walls.
Gather knowledge, true strength from mother Earth
seek truth in doing right with all your worth.
See brilliance in every golden sunset
cease striving for all earth's wealth you can get.
See Nature, its great eye-opening gifts
let grace come as your spirit it uplifts.
Will you see truth beyond that dark stone fence
find calm over world's chaotic suspense?
R.J. Lindley,
April 14th, 1982
I've constructed a picket fence around me to keep jackanapes out
Through pickets they can see me, but I never allow them to touch
private parts of me I keep concealed, and don't talk about so much
I keep whitewashing my fence, cleansing it from things left in doubt
When my boards become exposed to prying eyes that shouldn't see
I open another bucket of watered-down paint and reach for a brush
to cover the flaws, my faults within, and I am always in such a rush
to whiten and brighten the facade out front. The veneer veiling me.
There is a gate with well-worn hinges, but usually it's kept locked
to prevent invaders who would dare trespass on my every thought
Those who'd despoil my fence with graffiti and rip my boards apart
Hence, one reason why I keep a supply of whitewash well-stocked
I am the prismed reflection of my surroundings, including my fence
where no webs shall arachnids weave within my weathered boards.
I will apply a coat of whitewash to my palisade as the need affords
It is a beachhead between me and crawlers; my penury of defense
Twining around my picketed railings, grows a vine of climbing roses
The virtuous blooms are never cut to prolong each inculpable stem
They shroud malevolent fingers pointed at me that would condemn
I shrive every foible and failing that my whitewashed fence encloses
May 28, 2023
W T F Poetry Contest
Sponsor: John Lawless
Sitting on the Fence at Twilight
When the sun waved good-bye in the afternoon,
I’d say hello to the smiling Man in the Moon.
Perching on our gray concrete fence,
I’d swing my brown legs to a happy cadence.
From my solid fortress, I could see
a daily circus of human activity.
On a single bicycle rode the Fabros, a family of four;
how they all fit, it was a mystery to be sure.
The street vendor, old Papito, would hawk his treats;
oh! those warm, sticky, honey buns and tamarind sweets.
Sashaying in her tight-fitting skirt of tomato-red,
Cousin Clarita balanced a green basket on her turbaned head.
Then came buxom Aunt Alfreda huffing and puffing by,
to give me a piping hot, home-made, savory meat pie.
I’d blow on it to cool it off first, just
before biting into the flaky, buttery crust.
As day soon faded into hues of twilight,
I’d spy the occasional shiny satellite,
a tiny, silver snail slowly revolving in the sky,
moving so silently above, way up high.
For a child of seven, this was such a wondrous time…
right until the old town clock chimed nine.
Then Mama would ring her bell calling me inside,
and I’d leave the stars still twinkling outside.
04-24-2018
Contest: An Early Childhood Memory
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Placement: 3rd
The fence on which my feelings pause
Forever will be lost for cause
For should it stop my love to flow
Would pain me more than I could know
For fences keep out or keep in
To build one would be such a sin
And should one born to me exist
It’s time to let it be dismissed
A bridge, far better to be built
With no embarrassment or guilt
Where differences can meet to learn
That bridges are not meant to burn
Perhaps then I can follow through
On feelings that I have for you
Though you think differently than me
It’s not just difference that I see
The flush of spring has bought new life to romp in greening feed,
along the border with the forest where domestic flocks do breed.
Managed through the daylight by the fear of being seen,
the sentinels of death await for night when they are keen.
Though distant lights may glow as beacons for the lost,
guerrilla’s stream out silently in pack form to accost,
and satisfy their lust for blood without no grace or fear,
frustrating yet the hand of man. By dawn they disappear.
Far reaching eyes in anger lies where wilderness is dense,
I know my soul is being watched beyond the border fence,
locked into disappointment where flies gather at my feet;
There’s blood-stained wool on rotting flesh, with no thought to eat.
Immediate is my judgment for no trial is needed here,
I am the executor of the guilty, who dare to wander near.
Survival is the wisdom tho’ for the wily streetwise cur,
the frenzy’s not in pattern! It’s too late for where they were.
The night is cold and lonely with the urge for needed sleep,
but as the shepherd of my flock I must protect my sheep.
A pack will form again when blood is dry and lost its scent;
Until the last sheep drops their guard, no dog shall here repent.
The lead appeared Alsatian bounding surprised in its flight,
for its escape back to the bush in my sudden cheating light.
The echo of my three-o-three thundered through the hills,
with-in the change of retrospect. ‘Tis I who wants the kills.
Death took a holiday tonight where death was meant to be,
my shot was high or wide or low, ‘twas more shadow I could see.
Silence returned and in my light that scanned the field and scrub,
I knew that I was being watched, beyond a woodland shrub.
There once was a cat who hadn't much sense.
He liked to sit, every night, on a neighborhood fence
And sing, at the top of his not so sweet voice,
A medley of cat songs of his personal choice.
He'd been told many times, in no uncertain way,
That he'd be wise to sleep nights, and prowl in the day.
Because near the fence that he seemed to like best,
Lived a hard-working man who needed his rest.
So, late one night, in the light of the moon,
He climbed onto the fence and started to croon.
The sudden appearance of that unearthly sound
Aroused, from its sleep, the neighborhood hound.
With the yowl of the cat, and the yap of the hound,
The midnight was filled with the maddening sound.
From the house near the fence, you might understand,
Came a groan from the neighborhood hard-working man.
The poor, distraught man jumped out of his bed!
He ran to the window and stuck out his head.
He fumbled with this, and grappled with that,
Just anything handy to throw at the cat.
He threw both of his shoes, some books and a broom,
And everything else he could find in the room.
The symphony ended abruptly that night
And suddenly all was peaceful and quiet.
Next morning the cat limped home to his place,
And, believe it or not, he had a frown on his face.
Now, this might sound funny, but I assure you it's true,
Where everyone knows one should wear a hat--
--the cat was wearing a shoe.
After the down pour
Of a heavy rainfall
The wet fence dries off
Now the wet spot shows
A wet spot shape heart
Done by Mother nature
Young Germans on the wrong side of a wall.
Imagine, if you can, their awful dread!
Before that great monstrosity can fall,
young Germans on the wrong side of a wall,
knowing the cost of freedom is not small,
climb up that wall, but soldiers shoot them dead.
Young Germans on the wrong side of a wall.
Imagine, if you can, their awful dread.
A short time later, many miles away,
a barrier is safely being crossed.
Youngsters jump a tall fence, but it’s child’s play.
A short time later, many miles away,
no need to tremble or to think to pray,
these kids have no inkling of freedom’s cost.
A short time later, many miles away,
a barrier is safely being crossed.
3/21/2016 for the Pick a Theme Poetry Contest of craig cornish
Based on scenes from the movie: Bridge of Spies
I don’t want the white picket fence
I’ll take the one that’s weathered by time
Bent in a way that gives it character
Bordered by tall grass and wild thistle
You might rest your elbows on it after a long day
And smile at the sunflowers I planted
Because you know that when their yellow heads grow too heavy
They’ll have something to lean on
The devil’s dry fields
dirt farm, not much yields
damn sun
one forlorn tree shields
Texas battlefields
the one
recline that appeals
low water reveals
not done
no reprieve day’s sun
no wind, land barren
poor crop
windmill slow to run
water still and dun
well drop
worn clothes overdone
unbleached and homespun
no fop
dry, dingy sweatshop
broken fence post prop
damn sun
blind heat nonstop
a silent eavesdrop
poor crop
bleeding fingers mop
hellish spinning top
Grandma
Beyond the Black Fence
By Sy Roth
The land lay fallow
Beyond the black fence.
Growth once dressed in a white blanket of hoar in winter landscapes
Lush in summer months
Deer speckled backdrop
Munched all day behind a scrim of lush camouflage
And black birds rested on the scrub
Coupled with the land and each other
A fornucopia of perpetuation.
But like time
It marched in to war on its own turf--
The cranes, yellow tractor-footed creatures
Tore at the soil and formed mountains of dirt
That wild (plants?) draped over
And the long-necked (?) concrete spreaders
Filled the gaping foundations with its gray slush
And the deer fled
And the black birds had resting places on the open rooftops
And the last trees crumbled to the diesel monsters
Where future houses will stack itself with the firewood
Of septuagenarians and those who aspire to end that race.
Incessant noise of change
A cock-a-doodle-doo alarm
On the other side of the black fence
My side where I find comfort in a book
And a drink to whet my appetite
And conjure up the images of the verdant green that once was
And the hoary land that once was my winter vista
Deep violet Hibiscus with velvety petals,
On the quaint fence, sprawl the zestful creepers.
Mesmerizing tall branches of serene evergreen,
With tricksy Swallowtails, Redbreast Robin merrily whistling.
For Rithimus Divisa Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Gregory R Garden
Taken From The Poem "My Muse and Me"
Written on : July 26, 2020
Contest Name: Muse
sponsor: Regina McIntosh
Oh! my garden potatos...
and busted tomatoes..
The bull jumped over the fence...
And where did he go?
I really don't know!
I haven't seen him since!
But if I see one sign....
of his behind...
he'll get more than a piece of my mind!
If I catch him snoozin'...
he'll get a bruisin'....
right on his ornery behind.
Where is my white picket fence?
Where is my "someday I'll have it all"?
What will it take for me to find it?
What is more comfortable though than
the soft cushion of my mind?
When I'm happy with what I've got...
When I'm all I need, no more, no less...
Why all I need to do is just build one
Why do I have to make things so complex?
How to begin from scratch and build my white
picket fence and paint it ivory white for "my someday?"
How to be happy even more without a white picket fence...
Yes, my someday is here now in the "Simplicity" of life!
By Susan Mills