Best Fine Tune Poems
POINTING TO THE PROBLEMS
{Bivouacs}
Beat down with legal fees
Tied up with taxes;
Tripped up with mortgages;
Ripped off with student loans
Insulted with insurance
Telephone updates.
Out of date opts,
New upgrade rates;
Food on the down-low
Carrots in the closet;
Conjugating with fake rice.
Plastic cabbage, inedible corn.
Tomatoes with fish dung
Water with lead, flatulent cows
Polluting the air.
Carbon emission:
Beyond the stratosphere:
Halliburton and agent orange.
Nuclear explosion -radiation;
Devastating the atmosphere.
I can’t explain, with no
nutrients to the brain.
No minerals to the lungs n heart.
Contaminated nation;
Sheer contamination.
Is it too late, to rise above the hate?
Tired n Devastated, tried elevation.
Tried to immunize, and fine tune
My body to this new moon.
With herbs n mushrooms.
Sun Hot, Global Scorching...
Illuminati wants hearts,
and good body parts.
Neanderthals,running back to their caves
Underground bunkers, where they’ll be safe…
Americans dangling off bridges with knapsacks;
Flimsy structures and Bivouacs
No air, no food, no heat,
Not even water safe to drink.
Like Dinosaurs and bees, fast becoming extinct.
I can’t even think, with no nutrients to the brain.
No minerals to fortify lungs n heart.
Contaminated nation,
Sheer contamination.
With nowhere to run;
What do you think should be done?
Categories:
fine tune, earth day, emotions, fish,
Form:
Free verse
When asked to write Limericks about ladies
I said, "Oh, no. There's no way in Hades!"
Too many are my friends
I'd have to make amends
Not even for a brand new Mercedes
Then, I gave the matter a bit more thought
And chose women closest to my heart
The ones in Milton Creek
Five who are quite unique
All lovely women who are very smart
Jan holds ownership of the Manx Saloon
Where two lovely ladies sing a fine tune
It's where Milt played poker
But do not provoke her
Jan has been known to throw a mean spittoon!
Tania now runs the bakery in town
Her Whiskey Whoopie Pies are world renown
Come to Kitchin's Kitchen
She might let you pitch in
to help her make the best pastries around
Deb manages the Manx with extra care
No outlaws allowed, so you'd best beware
If you're packin' a gun
Or maybe on the run
She'll call the lawmen and they'll be right there
Two recently hired ladies fit right in
Caren tends bar, pouring jiggers of gin
Anne-Lise is the town flirt
Servin' drinks in ruffled skirt
Fine ladies, living at Aces with Lin
There's a few others at the Bordello
I hear one's sweet on a certain fellow
Maybe just a rumor
A tale told with humor
The Creek's calm enough to hear cows bellow
Residents will keep it free of all spats
No bad hombres who'll be wearin' black hats
More ladies will arrive
Our little town will thrive
Mayor Tom will have more to say 'bout that
Categories:
fine tune, humor,
Form:
Limerick
Music of Love
On cloudless, starry, starry nights,
you sit on your moonlit patio,
under the cool canopy of Royal Poinciana trees
showing-off their flamboyant scarlet petals.
Cradling your beloved cello between your legs,
you plunge into a vortex of musical love.
Skillfully drawing your bow, you fine-tune her;
testing for perfect fifths, you arouse her.
She thrills you with every expert caress
flowing from your fine, familiar fingertips,
so intimate, sensitive, and silky soft.
Tenderly titillating her, you bewilder
even the stars with your playing,
as the most melodic, harmonious music
breathlessly, seductively emanates from her soul…
more melodiously profound than the sweet,
nocturnal song of an amorous nightingale.
Together you two eviscerate the ills of the day
as you embrace her close to your heart,
plucking and stroking her sonorous strings.
An ardent lover, you tantalize her,
releasing a dulcet, celestial sonata
that causes even the passing breeze
to shimmer and quiver in jealous ecstasy.
Charmed, captivated, and curious,
as if sipping wine from the Holy Grail,
you thirst and hunger to delve and discover
the essence of her innermost secrets.
Lovingly romancing her with every touch,
she senses your love is not fallacious;
for like warm molasses, her music melts…
seeping into your brain, your heart, your very being.
And your soul passionately pulsates with the pure,
rhythmic melody of your cello’s divine voice.
06-17-2018
Contest: Eight Word Challenge – 7 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Placement: 1st
8 Words:
Fallacious, Eviscerate, Curious, Bewilder, Plunge, Tantalize, Vortex, Scarlet
Categories:
fine tune, beautiful, love, music, romantic,
Form:
Personification
Poetic lines
plucked out of the universe of creativity
a structure perhaps in place.
The poet's mind
a receptor
like a television receiving radio waves.
A message and a form emerges and a pattern appears
then to be arranged and carefully designed
like a quilter creating a quilt.
Further guided to play with words and structure
so as to fine tune
like a musician fine tuning a musical instrument.
The poet beckoned
by the universe of creativity
summoned to create the poem.
N/A - Brian Strand - All Yours (Apr 14) Poetry Contest
Categories:
fine tune, poems,
Form:
Free verse
I gaze beyond
the sky of sapphires,
waiting for a
spark of sailing light,
listening to
the balmy breeze~
they kiss the
rays of silver,
with tales of
my eclipsed past.
Maybe tonight dandelion
wind will dance in sync~
to sunset kayaks cruising
through wounded waves,
shimmering amidst
tear-stained dunes…
I lean on the seething sea
of seven sisters,
to rewrite my destiny~
learning from flawed art
within my aching heart.
But am I the one at fault?
or were you the
reason we fought?
I question the twirling time,
passing through
hues of forest haze.
Was the blame in
broken melodies~
strung from frail strings
of my antique guitar?
Maybe, somewhere
down the lane of
finding myself,
I lost our rhythm,
trying to fine-tune
symphonies of
frozen love.
Now I’m gliding towards
the moonlight
away from the
soulless midnight,
to reach a cosy shore
where I can knit
quilted patterns,
unraveling a place
that feels like home.
As I’ve been searching
for an island that has no
lifelines of faded vows,
so I’m running
from the limelight;
ice green footprints,
following me and
our musical memories,
like sinister silhouettes.
I never thought that
you were the one,
I always knew I was the
throned queen of darkness.
Who will it be next,
to rescript this
tattooed misery?
Maybe, a poet with
an acrylic quill softer
than the air I breathe.
Now I’m gliding towards
the moonlight
away from the
soulless midnight,
to rise above the silence.
I still hope that I’ll waltz
through a sphere
where warmth
of faith flickers in
colors of honeyed hope,
and home will no
longer be an illusion,
etched on dusky feathers
of diamond dreamcatchers.
Someday, hourglass pearls
will fall in shades of
this poem I’ve woven
in starry ink~
this is the unfinished story of
You and I.
Categories:
fine tune, emotions,
Form:
Free verse
Dear 2024,
I hope this poetic vow
wouldn’t be shunned,
as I block negativity
from my phone,
like my bitter exes.
And forgive my sense
of humor that
resembles sour grapes,
like a dash of salt
and pepper sprinkled
on top of old drapes.
Perhaps, as this
year bids adieu,
I’ll find the right
ingredient to concoct
sparkling wine infused
with giggles that
age like
chucklesome limericks,
as I fine-tune the
empty spaces
of my scribbled
pages with hilarity.
I’ll learn to laugh a
little louder and hope
the ebb of every
comical tale can flow.
Maybe a stricter
chocolate diet would
help me see the
sweeter side of
powdered comedians,
sharpening my wit
as endorphins enhance
my ability to spot
the depth of puns
punctuated
with bizarre tones.
And as December rain
drizzles in symphony
of the darkness
my quill flaunts,
pardon these
peculiar metaphors,
I’ll raise a glass
of crocodile tears,
a toast for
more concise poetry,
and faces I’ve phased,
that I’ll no longer
vent about in vain verses.
Cheers to the
festival lights
on wheel of laughter,
may the florescence
forever flicker as
souvenirs of amusement.
I’ll dance into the
rising sun of a new year,
in an odyssey adorned
with shimmering dreams
embalmed in
tickling mint leaves.
Categories:
fine tune, future, giggle,
Form:
Free verse
Jenna’s Saloon on Soup Creek
Tania, Deb, Kim, Constance, Belle
Darlene, Connie, Paula as well
Work for Jenna in her saloon
Waiting on tables in fine tune.
Singing as customers are served
All things abnormal are observed
The gals listen to what goes on
Reporting all to Mayor Tom.
The saloon’s a place to relax
Where the regulars meet and chat
With plenty to drink and to eat
A night at Jenna’s is a treat.
Sheriff Koplin, David the Ranger
They watch over any stranger
Who is maybe looking for loot
Or someone they may wish to shoot.
Onto trouble, sharp as a knife
Is gambler Milton, faster than light
Deputy sheriff Michael Tor
And Prospector Pete on his horse.
Of Blacksmith Rees rogues be aware
He's got ultra hot furnace where
They'll find themselves burnt if they dare
Bestow folk mischief or despair.
But hey ho when the day is done
Everyone is out to have fun
Laughter, singing, it’s never bleak
At Jenna’s saloon on Soup Creek.
*+*+*
1st September 2022
Categories:
fine tune, conflict, endurance, fun,
Form:
Rhyme
Smooth Elevator Operator
I truly am a smooth operator
When I let one loose in the elevator
If it’s only me there my air blows free
Have got my own detonator you see.
Able to let fly with such immense pride
And can play a fine tune from my backside
That is until others enter the lift
I tell them someone else has left the whiff.
* * *3rd August 2021
When I Let One Loose In The Elevator Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Charles Messina
*
Categories:
fine tune, cheer up, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
Line of inquiry:
blessings from above
transformed lust to love
delusion to illumination
earth-heaven bilocation
When darkness consumes my lost mind,
I turn to blessings from the blind.
To escape ego's flame of lust,
tones of zen my soul yearns to find.
Before my heart fades into rust,
I turn to spirits I can trust.
Fake guides try to lead me astray,
but I burn their words into dust.
In my delusions, demons play,
begging for me to let them stay.
I close my eyes and seek the light.
Angels appear to show the way.
In serene peace my soul takes flight,
entranced, my mind now feels delight.
Spanning spheres of stars and the moon,
astral visions kindle so bright.
As my breaths begin to fine tune,
heart sparkles like twilight at noon.
Sacred sighs sway from the wreckage,
in rebirth, I leave this cocoon.
Categories:
fine tune, analogy, spiritual,
Form:
Rubaiyat
Suffering through the pangs of writer's block
A blank page awaits my poetic ink
Like a rose waiting to bloom
The words will become the budding link
Forming poetic petals where beauty looms
The first letter hits the page
And my poetic canvas will impart
imagery and meaning, setting the stage
For a beautiful work of art
I plunge into the finer details
Trying to fine tune my rhymes
And then I will unveil
this canvas, and my words will chime
I gather up my words patiently
Towards my artistic goal
It's a joy that sets me free
And a work of art to satisfy my soul
--
5-19-18
Theme- I Gather Up My Words
Contest: Let Your Pen Drip
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Categories:
fine tune, art, poetry, writing,
Form:
Rhyme
I Swear A Sincere Oath Each Arriving New Morn
Amidst wreckage and sorrows dwelling deep
I fight to beautiful memories keep
To break dark that threatens to engulf me
So oft swamped by storms from crashing seas
I a floating leaf in massive expanse
Lonely and bereft of heart's true romance.
I walk beneath wondrous beaming blue skies.
Ever seeking that which time now denies.
I swear sincere oath each arriving morn
To thus battle, to mend this life so torn
Not as a warrior to brave or too proud
Or a timid soul hiding in the crowd
But instead as a hopeful refugee
One so desperate and too mad to flee.
I walk beneath wondrous beaming blue skies.
Ever seeking that which time now denies.
Once eager heart beat in me and much more
Long ago, I strolled sweet white sand shores
Singing with light and dancing in fine tune
Under summer sun in the month of June
Watching rolling waves and that deep blue sea
As a young lad, not this old refugee.
I walk beneath wondrous beaming blue skies.
Ever seeking that which time now denies.
I swear sincere oath each arriving morn
To thus battle, to mend this life so torn
Not as a warrior to brave or too proud
Or a timid soul hiding in the crowd
But instead as a hopeful refugee
One so desperate and too mad to flee.
I walk beneath wondrous beaming blue skies.
Ever seeking that which time now denies.
Robert J. Lindley, 8-27-2021
Rhyme, ( New Writing To Refill The Cookie Jar )
"We race on trying to regain our youth,
vanquished by reality and truth." RJL quote
"Nos currere ad trying ad repetendam adolescentia nostra:
victa rei veritatem."
Categories:
fine tune, appreciation, art, creation, deep,
Form:
Rhyme
Altered, boisterous, confounded, disruptive, energetic, fine-tune, growing.
Hyper, inquisitive, jokesters kindling love, mystified.
Nervously obsessive, pubescences question radical substance, surprising.
Teasing, uncontrollably visiting wild, xanadu youthful zest.
Copyright October 15, 2014
Categories:
fine tune, teenage,
Form:
ABC
Hold my feeble hand, O Lord,
For where to step I can not behold;
My feet are frail and I am effete,
Hold my feeble hand, O Lord.
I am devoid of sense and I lack the sight
Of Savior's steps on the way of light;
If left alone I never can trace,
Hold my hand, lead me to the right.
I know the mission on the Calvary's tree,
And by the blood that shed I yearn to be free;
But the devil does to flatten me down,
So hold my hand and ever near be.
A cloud so dark has blinded my eyes,
A spirit so sly caresses my thighs;
In guise I'm tempted and can't override,
Hold my hand, deliver me to the skies.
They've besmirched me and broken my heart,
They've battered my back I am sorely hurt;
So I pray to you O lord of Peace and Love,
Hold my hand and heal my part.
The storms are strong and tempests rise,
My yacht is wretched and I'm no wise;
The hippos may rejoice and crocodiles chuckle,
Hold my hand, pick me from demise.
I want to be founded and firm in faith,
And heed the walk Your Word saith;
Cause my eyes to see and my sense be sage,
And fine tune what my tongue saith.
So let me carry no other concern,
Except your will in form and turn;
Confirm my stand, my posture preserve,
So I and Jesus will to Heaven return.
Categories:
fine tune, me,
Form:
Straight rows of soft chairs, larval eyes stare blank
Absorbed by glowing colors on the wall
Their jaws slack, fetid whiff, unwashed and dank
Arrested minds the blue screen does enthrall
Their horticulture, growing docile strains
Indulge the twisted whims our lords conceive
The whores to culture, placid in their chains
Reclining prostrate, ready to believe
Our nation’s spirit sinking to expire
Omniscient demigods behind the screen
Transmuting our light to synthetic ire
Red, white, and blue bows to red, blue and green
Unconscious fulcrum, force you can’t deny
Black keys in gray hands of the puppet priest
Subliminal, no chance to wonder why
Clandestine reins pulled taut, they lead the beast
Imbue the symbol with gilt qualities
Admire how they conspire, our life rewired
Such dazzling tricks to blind the polity
In breaded, cheap amusements, we are mired
Our brave new virtual reality
With hidden craft, untruth is overlayed
Eclipsed sun darkens to totality
Beneath benighted noon we walk as day
Predicted, instinct’s base reaction known
To tidal waves of violence and sex
Minds titillated by distraction’s bone
From our Media-Government Complex
Our internecine hatreds stoked, inflamed
Creating and enhancing the divide
True culprits are protected, victims blamed
Incessant war, the great rift yawning wide
Unseemly freedoms have been made taboo
Renouncing power, most don’t even grieve
Relieved to give up guns and money too
Behind red tape and laws lurk skulking thieves
Resounding echoes, our once great New World
Through wavelengths, diodes, context redefined
Cold software guiding social plots unfurled
Far colder people fine-tune the hive mind
Inheritors of might presume the role
Unburdened by the ballast of remorse
Their dark ascent to power and control
Soul-searing wind as you climb to the source
Some zealots hold that this is Satan’s world
Each object of desire imbued with blight
Much clearer when the plan becomes unfurled
So glaring it becomes they have the right
This morbid monolith, our freedom’s bane
Temptation steals your breath, you’d best beware
Choose reason in a world that’s gone insane
Reclaim your only soul and say a prayer
© Thomas W. Quigley
7/17/16
Mostly Iambic Pentameter
Categories:
fine tune, america, political, power,
Form:
Iambic Pentameter
Someone on the subway’s playing a butt tuba,
whoever this boob is, his flagellant notes stink.
And when some borrow-or-rob panhandler gets off,
I fine-tune my radar and sit next to the door.
I switch to my doom mood as the farts continue,
I can't tell if it’s a mister or a madam.
Whoever's smelling like a bucket of dumb mud
their pungent odor is worse than dog doo, good God!
I should refer this to someone; it's hard to breathe
it’s getting out of control, and dammit, I’m mad!
When the awful smell follows me to street level
I begin to question, is it, I? It is I!
Categories:
fine tune, 8th grade, 9th grade,
Form:
Free verse