Best Fine Line Poems | Poetry

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New Fine Line Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Fine Line poems are below this new poems list.

It's A Fine Line by Hauser , Mike
A FINE LINE by Reed, Jeff
Fine Line by Morgan, Denise
There is a fine line between love and hate by Christou, Dana
It's a fine line by Greene, Frank
Fine Line by Mullins, Timothy
Fine Line by Behal, Stacey
A Fine Line by Bonner, Cat
Fine line between sane and insane by Matt, Chris
A Very Fine Line by bauer, ilene
HOW TO ALIGN A FINE LINE by Beck, Sidney
A Very Fine Line by Bose, Anneliese
There's a fine line between by Casey, Sarah
Fine Line by JOHNSON, DON
Fine Line by McCoy, Pat
Fine Line by Jones, Nancy
A Very Fine Line - The Restaurant by kysely, christine a
Love's Fine Line by Diva, Satin Doll
A FINE LINE by Strand, Brian
A fine line by travis, rebecca

View all new Fine Line Poems

The Best Fine Line Poems

 
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Within Reason- Maurice Yvonne and Seren Roberts




                        Within reason
lies a house full of ordinary
a chest of bland memories. 
 
                              You end up with
a pocketful of might have beens.
 
Within reason is five square feet of grass 
and the proverbial white picket fence,
nothing else.
 
                 The word 'important'
never makes it onto the page.

Nothing"within reason" was ever found
             that didn't already have its place. 
 
When u abandon
                   Reason
you also abandon
        Impossibilities. 
                the brother of reason
The one needs the other
                   two heads of the same dragon.
One breathing fire and brimstone
                  the other living without hope.
They never live separately
                         they are siamese twins.
The ying and yang of yesteryears.

They had a reason with a hint of possibility

They had something,
                  something maybe,
 at best something insignificant.

             But imagine what waits 
when you eliminate 'impossible.'

In the darkest dark
                                  within the scream of 'don’t',
       inside the insanity of abandoning reason 
                                                  it is there you'll find  
          that decaying flesh infested with worms
   it is there  where the round wheel was found. 
 
You use a black shovel 
             through the bone 
into the skull 
            through the brain 
along the heart 
                       into the gut. 
 
There  lies that fine line between insanity and genius
                                 but THERE is where you have to go. 
 
          To get there you abandon reason. 

 Abandon the dogma shoved down your 
                                 throats all these years.
 
Glide on the wild side.
                Show your body hair.
Expose your fangs.
                  Lights, camera, DANCE!
 


Copyright © Seren Roberts | Year Posted 2014

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BLACK MAGIC WOMAN


Madame Mistress, ebonies princess,
Southern comforts golden jewel,
A golden beauty down south does dwell.
She hides many secrets beneath her,
Glittering mask of mystery's mystic spells.
A dark priestess is this Cajun queen,
Black widows magic women,
Known as Ms. New Orleans.
In her crimson gown, trimmed by
Velvet's purple hues, she smiles
Behind her white lace fan.
A beguiling angel is she the devils
 Own kindred.
The voodoo queen of the swampy delta,
Ruling over the shadow demons,
Whom guard the everglades.
Underneath fancy face and social grace,
Lies the misbegotten heart of a
 Witches soul.
Here the trumpets sound at,
La Carnival as minstrels stroll,
Down Bourbon Street with rhythmic,
Precision's precise step.
Come join in celebrations grand parade,
The Maude Gra. Where anything goes,
Here things are forgotten as the sun rises,
This grand lady of beauty's legacy's charm.
Presses one finger to her redden lips,
Speaking not more than a hushed whispers
Sigh carried across bayou.
Thus does the Spanish moss weep, for
Those lost souls swallowed whole,
Beneath nights dark covenant of death.
Ghostly images walk the muddy side shores,
Phantom spectators existing as prisoners,
Trapped in limbos web, a thin fine line
Between the living and the dead.
Beware lone travelers, those for whom,
Seek mysteries glamor and mystic,
Of the southern by ways.
All are welcome to taste our spicy
Hospitality.
Yet beware pay homages respect,
To Mz. New Orleans, she after all takes
Great care of her own.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

 




Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2015




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Hold My Hand

Walking on a fine line
Finer than  a silky hair
Oops! We are mistaken
Hair is a rope of proteins and
Then a chain of amino acids
Is it an illusion? A phantasm?
Why they then connect 
Alike coaches of a train?
Harmony may be the glue
Attaching and sticking them
Together, dashing on the track of life.
I think, the line is nothing but 
A series of dots embedded 
In the matrix of unity
Come hold my hand, let us 
Make a line of life or lifeline 
Shun the inconvenience, Dear,
Nature loves symmetry.

© 25/09/2014
Malik Yaseen


Copyright © Malik Yaseen | Year Posted 2014

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Center Stage

Center Stage

It's hard to know exactly where to start. 
It's even harder not to think too hard or tear yourself apart. 
Life's not supposed to be easy, but it's not supposed to be living, waking hell. 
It's supposed to get better but the path is just too hard to tell.
It's moments like these that are close to anyone's heart. 

There's a light there, at the end of it all. 
No more distance, no more brick walls.
No more heart-wrenching realities or cold hard truths. 
You are the living proof. 
It's not about what you want or what you think you need. 

Chances are it's nothing like what you dreamed. 
Chances are it's the nightmare you never expected to meet. 
It's the neighbor next door or the strange familiar on the side of the street. 
Don't get too curious and don't get too close. 
That's when the unexpected happens the most. 

It's the one thing you never thought would be enough.
It will be your strength when you have none left. 
It will be where your endless hope and joy are kept. 
It will be the reservoir that holds every tear you ever wept. 
The one and only thing you must accept. 

It's a new paradigm this time. 
It's a new way. 
It won't ever be the same each day.

Some days you'll feel like you're more than alive and others you'll feel 
as if you're about to fade away.
Sometimes, it's simply hard to stay on that ever increasing oceanic wave.

There will always be the memory of who you are and where you were. 
There will always be more days to learn from one's mistakes.

You don't need a beyond perfect score. 
You just need to do all you possibly can. Remember where 
you've walked and when you ran. Forget about the tiny 
details and leave the rest. 

It will always be a search for a different quest. 
It will always turn out for the better and then the best. 

It will always be what you never thought you could find. 
It will be the very best of the very best kind.
It will be that incredibly fine line you can't believe you had all this time. 

It's a lesson to forever save.
It will teach you how to play your part when you can't find your heart. 
It will be that moment when you bow your head and pray. 

No where to begin. 
No where to end. 
The words in your heart will be the words you say. 

Maybe now, you'll understand how to begin and where to start.
It's not about being perfect, being smart, or tearing the pieces of yourself apart. 
It's about finding and being close to your own heart. 


Copyright © Sarah Herring | Year Posted 2014

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THE FOOL THAT IS YOU

What knowledge do you have of my home?
Have you taken a walk through the cemetery?
Walking on my tracks, footprints of eternity.
Have you read about the deserts?
Thus roar, thus blow filth,
Have you, met the survivors?
Felt have you, their struggles?
In The dusts that destroy,
That whistled as they sizzled,
So you shouldn't be judging,
For you're senselessly irking me,
For a fool that I am not- is the fool that is you.

You believe in the reporter,
Who experienced little of a quarter,
Of the life he broadcasts,
You let the television fool you,
Have you walked the fine line?
Have you let hunger define you?
I did. Oh I did sweat in the dust,
Trekked through the cracks,
And I, stood face up with the sands,
So you shouldn't be judging,
For you're senselessly irritating me,
For a fool that I am not- is the fool that is you.

I breathed within a twister of dust,
So you wonder not of my eyes as they carry,
The memories of the old struggle,
So wonder not of my skin either, 
As it bears the manuscript of my old life,
Yes I move immaculate, but do you know of my heart?
Let you not be fooled by my slenderness,
My strength far flows beyond my weight,
So I lift a whole continent with my pride,
And if I have to, I will put my life aside,
Just to fix a smile on mama Africa's face, 
So you shouldn't be judging,
For you're senselessly irking me,
A fool that I am not- is the fool that is you,

Mama is beautiful, yet you only see,
As far as her horn, and the slums,
Where the strongest among us might've been born,
Yes mama is beautiful, yet you neglect to see her exquisiteness,
How could you go to my house,
To only document the cracks on my walls?
Couldn't you walk in to my living room'
And maybe peek in to my kitchen?
Thence you might see the beauty that is my home,
How long will you only look at, 
Just the color of this book's exterior?
When will you ever walk in it,
To see the beautiful illustrations within?
So you shouldn't be judging,
For you're unreasonably riling me,
Cause the fool that I am not- is the fool that is you.


Copyright © DeeGee Anarka | Year Posted 2015

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Life's Void

On the edge of the void, that's where we must be.
Somewhere between the thrill of taking your life into your own hands and the cold 
realisation that you are finally in control of your own destiny is where you learn to 
really live.
It is not the same for you and I, each of us must find our own void and peer 
carefully over the edge, for we are human and we must look, or wither away, but to 
carelessly leap into the void would surely mean destruction.
So we tread the fine line of life and hope that one day we shall learn to fly and bask 
in the glory of that we can only watch from a distance.


Copyright © Nick Bagnall | Year Posted 2011

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Finding Your Place

Silent in the darkness of each breath..inhaling this air we feed to the lungs within the beast of our inner torment, Ever cautious ever alert our presence creeps across the meadow as the mist protrudes from around us.. If only this demon could be sworn off, killed and defeated, left and feeling nothing to suffer in its own mindlessness, Yet we stand as it rips, tears and grows within us.. Changing our souls for everything it was once worth to something it turns into pure hate in a nightmare of a world, If we can't be ourselves...Then who can we truly be, We walk a fine line as the edge slips away from us we stumble to find ourselves within fighting off this beast...nothing we can do....nothing anyone can do...less we kill off the demon with the blade of our pure selves ripping its heart out and feeding it to our gorge of an abyss, If we can't be ourselves..then why try to be anything at all....haha..you will never be anything of any worth till you fend off the one thing that binds you to your own hate..your anger merely feeds it giving it strength as it grows within you, Stay strong and make the demon bleed...there's no rest for the wicked things that linger in your lives.


Copyright © Samantha Johnson | Year Posted 2014

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Necklace of Pearls

Teetering on a fine line
stretching across the western horizon,
suspended fire, glowing orange-red ball,
slowly receding, slipping downward
until, just out of sight,
split into a thousand shades and tints
like fine lead crystal, broken,
pastel fragments scattered on the clouds,
a pearl necklace encircling
the sky’s bare neckline
before evening’s black velvet cloak
encircles her shoulders.

Copyright, August 13, 2016



Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2016

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Love And Hate



Love and hate are closely connected Emotions both strong and intense A fine line divides these extremes Oft times we straddle the fence It takes what seems like an innocent event To shove us one way or the other We're up on top of the world one moment Next moment afraid we'll smother Controlling emotions is difficult at best Bombarded by outside influence Always requiring strength and dedication To maintain love's continuance Lost without love's sweet guiding light Through sad time and times of joy Love must conquer the uncertain heart And never allow hate to destroy Love and hate are closely connected Emotions both strong and intense A fine line divides these two extremes Oft times we straddle the fence © Jack Ellison 2013


Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2013

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Along The Shoreline In Waiting

Listen to poem:
In waiting... for the touch of the ocean upon her toes for the whisper of the tide in her ear and the scent of salt-spray in her hair In waiting... For the echo of the dunes ,and sounds of empty shells behind her back In waiting.. For the falling of fresh water drops against her skin and a crispy breeze cooling the air In waiting.. She catches herself gazing towards the fine line at the far edge Watching ripples here... and there... beneath soaring sea-gulls Seeking a reflection in waters where once pebbles were tossed Hearts drawn, and short novels read. In waiting.. She strolls along the sea-shore , She wonders... Is it the same ocean,sand,tide , that He lstens to,that He feels Is it the same ocean,sand , tide that He shares ,that He sees. Is it the same sunrise which kisses her cheek-bones that warms up his breath and dries up a tear Five hours and five million miles away Is it the same solitude that captures his moment ,without her return. In waiting...Always...Forever... In waiting
Inspired by Dido 's song 'Sand in my Shoes '.


Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2016

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They Say

They say, 
"It’s better to have loved and lost, 
then to never have loved at all."

I guess that all depends 
on how the loss occurred.
Was it something that 
eventually faded away 
or did it end up turning, 
evolving 
into some form of hate?

They say, 
"There’s a fine line 
between love and hate."

There once was a time 
when you used to love me, 
way back when, 
and now 
you probably hate me 
because we’re no longer friends. 
But that’s fine, 
because I kind of despise you too,
for all the pain
you put me though.

They say,
"True love will never die 
and will always stand the test of time."

I guess the love that I knew, 
never really was true,
because if it was, 
then it would still be alive.
There would still be a “we” 
instead of just you 
without me.
				
They say,
"Time heals all wounds,"
which is a complete lie.

A total bunch of crock 
said in love’s demise.
Although, it might sting a little less
eventually given some time.
But it will never completely mend
and a part 
will always remain 
the same.
It’s just something 
that they tell you,
to keep you pacified.

They say, 
"Ignorance is bliss,"
living without a clue.

I wish I could 
live in bliss.
How appealing that would be,
to have no more painful thoughts
and all hurtful memories freed.
To have all of my worries 
be completely remiss.
Please let me just dwell 
a little bit more on this...




Copyright © . daBomb™ | Year Posted 2010

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Formal Ambitions

The rule book
Of Society rules
We either live by the rules
Or be ruled unfit:

Toe the line
Walk that fine line
Keep in line
But never cross the line;

Speak up
Speak when spoken to
Speak politely
But never speak out of turn;

Mind your manners
Mind where you look now
Mind your Mama
Oh just never mind;

Look out
Watch out 
Just let it play itself out
But never let it out;

Come when called
Come along now
Come here
Just never come alone.

But sometimes
The line between formal
And informal
Ambition
Blurs
And I come
Unspoken
Alone
In my mind
Without you
Playing it out
With both feet
Planted firmly
Over the line.


Copyright © deb radke | Year Posted 2010

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The Minister's Lonesome Daughter

Sadie walks a fine line
Sadie walks alone.
Sucks a fresh lit cigarette
beneath electric glow. 

Sunken cheeks and tear streaks
shadowing her shame.
Her eyes could paint a masterpiece
in desperation's name. 

Bare feet scraping ashpalt,
her shoes hang from her hand.
There are no angels for
this daughter of a holy man.

She meets the eyes of passerby's
then makes her way back home. 
Sadie will you ever sleep?
Or will you always roam.


Copyright © Katy Lesperance | Year Posted 2010

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Over Coming Fear

the courage to confront ones fears
to accomplish ones desires and 
manifest ones goals 
even in the adversity where others don’t believe as you do
following the strength of your heart
will retain the flame of your dreams
when you feel that adrenaline coursing through you body
and your mind becomes a blur of confusion
over coming that fine line of fear
when droplets of sweat appear on your brow
and your body temperature begins to rise
a thought will finally break past uncertainty
over coming fear to achieve ones passion
means never giving up on yourself.


Copyright © Ron Flatow | Year Posted 2006

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Life's Final Retreat

Cast to the side sitting out this ride
the clocks move forward with speed
but I'm left to need   to breathe 

Iced down bubbled up feelings enraged
stolen moments caught  lives rearranged
things never to remain the same

Living on a borrowed dime rolling dice
coming up snake eyes against father time
letting the bills fall behind

A fine line to hang out for all to see
hidden secrets too heavy to hold
telling stories getting old

Spark embers higher and higher
desire leaks from a fractured soul
in the distance the bell tolls

Let go delusions afloat in whispered dreams
mixed thoughts both sour and sweet
upon life's final retreat




Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2017

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These Eyes Seek you

These eyes seek you between here and there In that place where lonely hearts beat one to one. They seek you beyond that thin fine line where the burnt orange of fire meets the silver-edge of the ocean Where its heat impregnates the dormant tide with a spell-binding mirage. These eyes seek you between two mocking worlds where strong monsoons blow away each falling star. They seek you through infinite distance where the smell of salt-spray fills night's misty air and where the scent of musky roses blooms throughout the year. They seek you across silhouetted sails against a glowing moon. These eyes,these noisettes eyes move like last shadows of sea-gulls Soaring high in darkest of places Fearless,on the verge of nothingness. They seek,they search,they roam They roam across the sky-line which separates our paths Our deserts and waters Our lands and Our hands But not our dreams. Our dreams will not be taken Of dreams We are belongers And it is there where I live It is there where I would not exist It is there where these eyes will often be solaced by the comfort of your arms.


Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2017

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untitled

Understood like written opinions in the dark.
This fine line of cultural barriers.
Controlled by our mental description of perfect.
Who is perfect?
Who has the right to judge my look, then, assume it goes with my personality.
Basing your opinion of me on my past told to you, but known by me.
You can use faith as the basis for everything.
I'm searching for common ground on sea's,
Hoping god will appear and say" Come to me".
Tattoo's, make me a walking collague of all things I hold dear beyond skin deep.
Piercing, for me, a form of beauty.
Encouraged to be different,
To shake up the norm.
Outcasted when the norm ends up a far cry from it's original form.
Take to negitive's to form a positive.
Confronting those who swear their word is bond, or 
the hetro-sexual closet cases who hide their sins and judge the world.
Truth's hidden inside brains.
Mine hell bound, cause my sins hang from sleeve's, like
gay flags at pride parade.
So quick to judge, failing to see..
It's the soul,
that make's you, you, and me, me..


Copyright © Nyisha Hampton | Year Posted 2009

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Fine Line

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


Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2011

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SHOPPING TOGETHER

SHOPPING      TOGETHER

We went   to the wood shop together
To select for the job the right timber - 
Ooh,   - laths,  two-by-ones,  maybe plywood ?
She was unmoved - finished, unfinished, one-side-good ?
Mmmm,  -  beech   or oak  or pine?
See  the  fine line and polished shine ? 
She felt  little  emotion for my dowelling,
Any more than paper towelling.
She heard no timbre in struck timber,
No note she could remember :
It sent her to slumber 
To encumber her mind with lumber - 
It was all so much mumbo jumbo.
Standing with arms akimbo
No matter where she stood
It was just wood, wood, wood, wood.


Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2010

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Teenagers

I would bet a wager 
That many can relate 
For if they have teenagers
You may think you met your fate
Well let me tell you about mine
Sometimes they make me spin
Walk a really fine line 
Cause most times i just cant win
Its not hard to put things away
You had no trouble taking it out
Clean it up i always say
 i am sure you know what that's about
 Its a death trap in there room
It doesnt bother them never the less
They just put that web cam on zoom 
So all can see the mess
I try to make them see 
That really cleaning isn't hard 
And happier they would make me 
But it slides over there head like lard


Copyright © colleen laforme | Year Posted 2007

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Don't Blow It

       DON'T BLOW IT.
Slow down; life is not so real
Break down; 
love is all you can feel.
What little time you have to be, 
don't blow it,
children know how love should be, 
just show it.
Don't blow it.

Fine line; 
life is just sureal,
make time, 
there's no time you can steal;
what little love that you may find, 
surround it

Don't blow it.

if you have a dream, 
be glad you've found it
Surround it.

Don't blow it.
Don't blow it.
Don't blow it.

© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet

June 10 2016  have no music for this, and am welcoming anyone who wants to give it a try, I am just too busy right now. so give it a try, then send what you come up with to veebdosa@aol.com. See how many versions we can come up with. Good luck.


Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2016

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Simple Days 2

As I moved on to being a toddler I soon learned that; although, a good arm meant a lot it was not going to save me from the severe Oedipus complex that pitted not only my father but also myself against my brothers devoted love for my mother.  I can truly say that I was never a mama’s boy; yet again I wasn’t extremely fond of my father either.  I was of course doomed to be a sociopath.  Which suited me just fine until I realized that violence made me physically ill.  There was only one solution to this dilemma, I would have to use my tongue as a sword and figure out a way to save my myself by not writing checks with my mouth that my ass couldn’t cover.   It was a fine line that I walked.  By day my brothers nemesis by night a loving son who sought out the affection of his parent’s.   It was of course all a sham that I would have to deal with one day.  

As I learned to walk and talk it became apparent to me that being able to do both at the same time was truly a gift from above.  I could zing a couple of remarks at any adversary and then move like the wind towards a save haven, usually my mothers loving yet guilty arms.  Nurturing was not her gig.  She is British and worships Winston Churchill.  Stiff upper lip and all that rot.  Hard love is like a boiled egged: it’s got a shell you break but as you peel it back you realize you’re about to eat the embryo of something that could have been beautiful.  But what the hell you put some salt on it and eat it anyway.  That salt seems to get rubbed into the wounds over time and you slowly sour on forgiveness, and oh by the way time does not heal all wounds.  There are some things I will take to the grave with me.  Yes I can hold a grudge but it is only to those who make me suffer their stupidity.  Make no mistake you should never under estimate the stupidity of your fellow human beings. 

As time went on my brother and I bonded in a way that was truly remarkable, he always won and I always lost.  It was likes Newton’s law.  For every action I took he reacted with the same but opposite force, which meant that even an honest game checkers turned into a life or death game for me.  If his intuition were correct he would know that on some days I was bound to win.  That of course made him make sure that the game never came to fruition.  Him not losing meant I wouldn’t get beat to within and inch of my life.  It was not perhaps the most admirable agreement but it was a bond we both we both understood because if I did somehow manage to win and was the object of his over developed Oedipus complex he was sure to suffer the wrath of my father.  It was a viscous cycle


Copyright © Stephen Kilmer | Year Posted 2014

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I cry for you

The tears I shed are not tears of pain but of grief for you my love. As life would have it or fait at least; you lost at what could have been. Really what should have been!
I know what you truly deserve and it's not me or the poor background of which I've come from. Your friends have managed to find wives with wealth and retirement. While all you can do is carry the load as you always do.
Do not think for an instant my heart isn't hurting; knowing I'm not good enough, never have been, and never will be. I can never catch up in life and will never be an equal. At no time is this far from my mind.
I used to think love was all that mattered but now I have grown up and realize how much more there is to life. A fine line drawn in the sand from the beginning has set us apart and down separate paths. Together yet not as one; this was never to be for our lives were directed by poverty and riches.
Was I selfish to want you? I did not understand then as I do now. Now knowing what I know, I cry for you my love. You could have carried on finding that special one to share all of you with. No lines drawn, no poverty or riches to separate. No tears shed or grief knowing ones' not good enough!
What's ahead as each day passes I wait to see. God has a plan, everything happens for a reason. A new job with more money, yet not even this erases the line. Not for my life of such little means even this can't bind a heart set on a different path?
Debbie Knapp


Copyright © Debbie Knapp | Year Posted 2013

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Charlotte Gets Tough with Miss Muffet

Said contrary and crabby Miss Muffet
“Hey eight-legs! Kiss my bare Tuffet!” 
From above and beyond, Charlotte dropped a fine line
And bit the old bag where the sun doesn’t shine…

For Andrea’s clerihew contest


Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2014

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The Once Dead Boy - Revised

The Once Dead Boy - Revised 
Once upon a time there lived a little boy 
Who filled his mother’s heart with boundless joy.
This sweet young lad was pure as snow
Spreading goodness and kindness like seeds that grow.
People couldn’t help but notice his eyes
Always shining brightly and looking up high.
He laughed and smiled from dawn to days end;
Never spoke a bad word and couldn’t count all his friends.
Boys and girls and grownups galore;
Everybody loved him until he laughed no more.  
While riding his bike on a warm, spring day
A car rounded a corner and took him away.
But he never saw it coming and floated so high
Watching his dear mother weep, wail and cry.
“Why God, why God, why God me? 
Why not another boy from across the sea?”
She cursed, fumed, begged and pleaded
But all her pain went quite unheeded.
Meanwhile the child just set his sights 
On a place he knew beyond the light
Shining down from high above
With the pull so strong of pure, deep love.  
As he traveled wide and went so far 
Beyond the blue and past the stars;
Galaxies were toys just hanging there
Like a baby’s mobile in the cool night air. 
While time stood still and truth became dreams
And he knew the answers to everything
From Aristotle to the age of space 
And found himself without a trace;
While still connected to his mother’s mind, awakening
From his coma in the nick of time.
While the doctors said he was surely dead 
For a while, who knows for certain?
(It’s a fine line between here and gone
And drawing the final curtain).
The moral of the story is the boy survived 
Because no one knows the difference 
Between dead and alive.   




Copyright © Terrell Martin | Year Posted 2012