Best Fine Line Poems
Fine Line
A fine line between madness and sane,
Sometimes I wonder which side I am playing,
The rhyming goes on, it rattles her name,
which side am I playing, sidestep the insane,
I look at the women, they don’t see me pass,
Guess I’m just made of that, see through glass,
Rhymes they keep coming, they misspell my name,
Who is that bugger, that talks in the brain?
The doctors can’t tell me, am I insane,
I break into chuckles, when I hear my name,
Too late I am doubting , the looks of disdain,
Sometimes on the one side, the other again.
24-sep-11
Nancy Jones
Contest Name Fine Line
Like a rainbow bright and beautiful
Love flourished as a river flows to stream,
Forever faded fast to lies and loathe
Lowered the gauntlet on pure love of youth.
Magic dreams disintegrated into ash
Smouldering fire quenched as passion died,
The rainbow was eclipsed by selfish whims
This Romeo and Juliette expired.
Slowly through the years pendulum swayed
Inching closer to sever love in bloom,
Wilted romance now tasted only pain
The substitute to gather pieces lost.
In the beginning love carried a song
Sweet precious souls enwined in happiness,
Time is the culprit changing lovers tune
Embarking in passage of loneliness.
Love contains the key, the core to Life
Reaching several highs and many lows,
The gauntlet ever present to invade
Unless the lovers firmly stand, together grow.
For Mr. Heck's Contest
I love your smile I love your witty charm
I'll never forget when you broke my arm
I adore your walk and the way you talk
You always said I'd be the one you stalk
I cherish your humor and you dance well
Since I've met you life's been a living hell
I love your eyes and your great sense of style
The things you tell me are so very vile
"He's no good for you" I heard from a friend
I keep praying for the abuse to end
When we started dating it was so grand
Why did you ever have to raise your hand?
I wish I didn't feel you're my soul mate
There is a fine line between love and hate
HOW TO ALIGN A FINE LINE
Who can resist the pull of such a competition
Where the rules are so clear,
But the topic is like sex in the 60s revolution:
Filled with pitfalls but (yes, it was) - freer
Similar to the Argentine gaucho named Bruno
Who said well there’s one thing I do know
- Slang is fine,
Intentional misspellings are divine,
But a llama is numero uno.
And whose “who’s” is in question? Not mine!
Hey, they’re writing “their” over there
When it oughta be “they’re”.. . . Ok, Fine!
The effect of all this is to affect my degree of care
(And to effect a change in all poets, I hope).
Since mine is not a KNOCK-OUT of a poem
And I am certainly no dope
Nor am I a gnome from Nome or even Chomsky Noam
I hesitate to use the non-existent
Cringer word “irregardless” regardless
Of the consequences extant,
Or in future years countless.
………………………………………
Written by a nameless, talentless poet
For Nancy Jones’s Contest “Fine Line”
An eye for an eye,
Don’t anticipate,
Visions pass by,
Mark it as fate,
Underneath power,
Death can resist,
Within the next hour,
The makers assist,
Fine line read,
Scars tinted,
Crumbled like bread,
The particles hinted,
One day in,
More to come,
Kicked in the shin,
Up again; until it’s done,
Working for those,
Feeling weak,
Exotic flows,
Informing by leak,
Wordplay prescription,
Double box fled,
Mirror as reflection,
Pushing forward; ahead.
There is a fine line between sane and insane.
It is so small its hard for us to explain.
We all have our little quirks and ticks.
But were are not insane, its nothing to fix.
There isn't a single person who hasn't had crazy thoughts.
We just don't talk about them, that's what we are taught.
When we meet people we keep it locked inside.
We push our tendencies down and if asked we lied.
How many of us over-reacted to a broken heart?
Calling your ex a thousand times, that's the crazy part.
Or getting mistreated or fired from the place you work.
You know what you wanted to do to that boss or jerk.
And how many of us have been called neat freaks?
Its because that little voice inside us always speaks.
Don't you think that is just a tad bit strange?
I am not trying to point out that you maybe deranged.
My point is, we all have our moments of doubt.
Were not sure if were insane, but we never let it out.
We show others what we want them to see, the rest is buried.
Women let it come out after your together forever and married.
***For Nancy Jones' contest, “Fine line between...”
There’s a not-so-fine line
Between antiques and junk.
Some objects of “value”
A pro may debunk.
While others, so old
They are covered in rust,
Seem worthless, so passing
Them over’s a must.
Still, it can be fun
Checking out all the wares
At various flea markets,
Shops, booths and fairs.
It takes a keen eye
To uncover some treasure,
But poking around
Brings a “Look at this!” pleasure.
What is your drug of choice,if one is had.Booze,weed or LSD,cocaine,speed or PCP!There are many that we do but this crap is not good for you.
Nothing to gain for scars I bare but drink and crap my underwear!
Snort a line,what can I do,keep snorting until my face turns blue!
Pop a lid and watch me fly and watch the wall melt while I fry!
Puff a blunt,I feel just fine until I lose all track of time!
One teaspoon of dust inside my wine and I go swimming with the swine!
Oxycoten is not for me when I have got the need for speed!
Now I bounce back off the wall because I hear a special call!
That call is called reality,it screams this will be the end of me!
What choice is there when life is hard and I am dealing my last card!
Get off my ass and out of bed and if I fail I end up dead!
A FINE LINE BETWEEN DEVIANCE & PASSION
There is a fine line between deviance and passion
The same line borders love and lechery
The barrier is not to be crossed, not even for a second
It is not etched in sand, as that can be dissolved with the tide
The line is bold, but the boldness dissipates in darkness
This line is horizontal and vertical at the same time
Not a cross
Although a cross is sometimes used to measure the thickness of the line
There is a fine line between dipsomania and moderation
The same line separates the happy revelers from the sad sots
The gate should be kept closed at all times
It is not locked, as combinations can be forgotten with time
The line is electrified, but insulation forms in acceptance
The line is angled and curved at the same time
Not a circle
Although a circle is the trap for the poor soul who strays across the line
There is a fine line between life and death
The same line forms the edge of sin’s cold knife
The blade unsheathed reflects the disappearing line
It is a sharp and distinct line one moment and then in the next it is blurred
The line bends when we want it to bend in our weakness
The line is not infinite
Not a universe
Although the universe is too small to hold the line
There is a fine line between forgiveness and grudge
The lines of our words cross over and then return
The damage is done and then the line is broken
It is too slippery to allow us to hold on for a lifetime
The line intertwines with other lines
The line is only as strong as its weakest fiber
Not invincible
Although destruction is often the only solution to crossing the line
There is a fine line between deviance and passion
The same line borders the moral and immoral
The barrier is not to be crossed, not even for a second
It is not given to us, but is self-created in our prayers
The line enters our head and divides the mind
The line is in a book, a song or a poem
Not fiction
Although the line between fiction and truth is often hard to discern
Blow a whistle, or write a song, while the white bearded-men of small fishing towns drown the nights away. Try to forget, if only for so long, that the tempted wish bowl rolls; floats like a wing and cries great lies of childish negligence, coming to wish all the best, to each worried-face at the contest.
Broken seats flood empty spaces of the unsaid, whispers sneak about as my heart beats, taking the pain out of what the people on TV finally confessed. The hidden message, the broken bills, hiding, in a black back room, twice locked, twice removed. The rich and the poor, a cousin, but there’s more, where that came from that we choose, or tend, to ignore.
Pick a poison, pick a fruit, like the other one said: I’d rather be dead.
I tend to forget how to relate, sometimes, some such, to each other and a stretched out story passed down from another forgotten tribe. This is what the line allows. There’s a scratch, and a rock, a touch and a match, to keep the time clicking on, like a bomb.
There’s a little liquor, I shiver, wanting to close the blinds. But my mind pounds, counting down the days until I can run sideways or inside, someplace, jumping through hoops if I have to or if it helps.
I know that at one time, they’ve said “One Day” and I still see them sitting all around; a circle is a monstrous thing that keeps them coming back, without missing anything, without a sound. It’s like a stamp; it’s like a message; it’s just a damn thing that they found.
Wondering: the word I hear if there’s a note hit that high every time. I let it simmer, and cut the chord, laying back ever so slightly, waiting, waiting, and finally unwinding.
Another turn twirls on by, the jagged, abrupt tuck, small rocks sticking out; like a pine branch on a path. I think it’s weird and sad and treacherous, and I haven’t told anyone that before. A year older, probably the reason why, passing by the wise, not surprised, uninspired and demoralized.
“Walk the Line,” they say, trying to turn a blind eye. So I’ll shut up and just get in the back, with a worried look, turning my neck, to see it all once more, before it’s over and I have truly tried to cross that fine line.
I loved you -
I hate you!
And now I can’t wait to
See you fall from grace - like the stupid fool that you are -
(Right on cue)
That perfect mouth
I once kissed
Now just looks slack
And I’m pissed
That others even listen
To the phoney nonsense you spew!
Those big muscled arms
That once saved me from harm
Seem to drag with your knuckles
On the floor,
And those dumb little jokes
That you share with all folks
Are banal embarrassments
And, believe me,
A BORE!
You walk towards me,
I seethe!
What a nerve!
I can’t breathe!
“Get Lost!”
I manage to hiss
In front of me you stand, -
then grab hold of my hand!
I’ll hit you!
(I swear I won’t miss!)
You pull me tight to your chest
My heart pounds in my breast
What are you doing?
Good God up above!!
Your lips then meet mine
More potent than wine,
My heart melts –
I have fallen in love!
Everything is fine
Fine tune, fine art, fine dining
Life is a fine line
between your opinion
and mine
you and me, too
offhand
I'm walking a fine line,
somewhere between dead and alive,
I'm contently loosing balance,
tripping over my own two feet.
I'm scratched, scared, and bruised.
Will I make it out alive?
Or will I die,
on this destructive path of mine?
Post-heart break
and it sinks in.
I try to convince you,
but it's too late.
Too late for trying
too late to change my mind-
cause it's you that I want
and you I think of
when I blink,
breath
or sleep.
But you tore me in half,
gave me your word
and I believed you
oh how I believed you.
You twisted your head,
mind began manipulating
and as I drowned in my own guilt-
because falling for you was default
you caught me in mid-air
unaware it could happen so fast
then you kissed my cheek goodbye-
no explanation.
Only the knots that clenched my lungs
and the throbbing of drenched eyes-
a thunderstorm inside,
mask to decline the assumptions
because
there's a fine line between love and hate