Best Flounder Poems | Poetry
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New Flounder Poems
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I Found A Flounder
by Gifford, Darlene
Note to a floundering flounder
by Johnston, Brian
Flounder From the little mermaid
by Cra, Jacob
A Flounder Matured
by Blake, Effie
View all new Flounder Poems
The Best Flounder Poems
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Flounder Poem
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I was inattentive in Science class one day
When the teacher at random looked my way
I didn't look up, I wouldn't dare
There's no escaping that intense glare.
Asked me to explain to the class
Newton's Law of Gravity and mass
My mind was a blank, heartbeats louder
For an answer I started to flounder.
I stood before the class trembling with fear
"Gravity" I said...and then oh dear!!!
I fell off the stage on to the floor
How the class with laughter did roar.
The children tittered in great amusement
They didn't know my sad predicament
The teacher said, "You've demonstrated gravity"
"Although you did it with much levity".
At length I returned to my seat
With many applause did they greet
Now I look back upon this and ponder
I decide to listen and not let my mind wander.
Copyright © Nandita Das | Year Posted 2015
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Flounder Poem
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My feelings flounder
like a sky of dying stars
already snuffed out
yet still sending waves of light
to haunt my heart at midnight
Copyright © Heather Ober | Year Posted 2013
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Flounder Poem
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Crushed under the hand of fate
misery shadows my day.
For I looked into your eyes
and saw hope crumbling away.
Fragmented fantasies morphed
into long forgotten fears.
And dreams began to flounder
in a sea of fallen tears.
When feelings felt out of place
suspicions began to rise.
And yet ignoring the truth
I closed my eyes to your lies.
And now that you’ve left me
my whole world’s falling apart.
For I don’t know what to do
or even worse, where to start.
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015
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Flounder Poem
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11/17/16
He did not hit no home run, it was a grounder
How many cabinets or counters
Have some sort of white powder
Many meals cooked with flour
Familiar with the Two Towers
As well as Wario and Bowser
Head up, regardless of any times being dour
Nagivating around sharp objects that could be eye gougers
In certain waters, swim flounder
Certain individuals working as a bouncer
Or with web browsers
And many more, but I'm not going to name them all like an announcer
Some just want the money and power
She wanted exotic flowers
And a dog that was a schnauzer
Objects being restored and scoured
On a planet with unexplained mysteries and strange encounters
There is so much you can do in twenty four hours
See for yourself unless you want to be a doubter
This place by the ocean has some of the best chowder
Classic like "Wallace and Grommit in the wrong trousers"
Nocturnal hunters and night prowlers
Wolves are quite the growlers and howlers
By black holes matter being devoured
That which does not can ouster
I always like rain and thunder showers
Girl, of you I could not be prouder
I'll buy, now let's go get some sweet and sour
By: Dalton Ogletree
Copyright © Dalton Ogletree | Year Posted 2017
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Flounder Poem
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Awakened Senses
Aboard my boat on winding river here,
with anchor dropped, all seems so calm, serene.
I breathe in deep the fragrant river air;
the smell of water, breeze, the scent of clean.
These river smells stir up a sister sense...
the scrumptious, luscious flavors of the sea;
The ocean cod, the shrimp and flounder too...
The river wakes my senses wondrously.
Sandra M. Haight
~3rd Place~
Contest: Poems That Did Not Place and More
Sense of Taste ~ New Poem
Concept: River
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Judged: 09/14/2015
.
Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015
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Flounder Poem
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There Comes A Time...
There comes a time when what was is no more.
The strong become weak, the rich become poor.
A luscious red apple is reduced to a core.
Hearts drawn in sand are washed from the shore.
Sometimes life gets twisted by anger or fate.
Things once loved become objects of hate.
When hopeful signs of Spring arrive too late,
There comes a time to have patience and wait.
There is a time to cling to the hope we must keep.
When mourners no longer have reason to weep.
When we'll scale mountains that were too steep.
And sowers of seed will have harvests to reap.
Budded flowers bloom, wither and die.
Truths are found to be nothing but lies.
Relationships flounder until they go awry.
There comes a time when we must say goodbye.
Things change with time. Dark becomes light.
Tides ebb and flow. Black fades into white.
The sun bows down to the moon at night.
There comes a time to make wrong things right.
We wear life as a cloak, a cloth of fragile weaving,
Mended at the seams when ripped by deceiving.
There comes a time to put an end to the grieving.
In yourself, you must always keep on believing.
A chrysalis becomes a beautiful winged creature.
The ambitious student becomes the wise teacher.
Disbelievers find faith in Jesus, the preacher.
There will come a time when pain can't reach her.
Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2015
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Vows are recanted and passions flounder
on the shoals of betrayal and remorse.
And drifting dreams navigate in darkness
whenever love starts to wander off course.
Beware lust, a most cunning emotion
touting trickery and deceit as truth.
For the seeds of trust germinate slowly
and patience's a virtue that’s new to youth.
Naive hearts are vulnerable to lies
for the truth often appears conflictive.
Yet when love creates tears of happiness
their salty-sweet taste can be addictive.
The feeling of being special and prized
is awesome, combining two into one.
And purges the hurt from a broken heart
instilling happiness laughter and fun.
Intimate moments make life worth living
a time when your heart's devoid of despair.
For even though it’s intangible, love's
physical impact is beyond compare.
To be loved is to feel wanted and whole
instantly giving life a brand-new start.
For it's a miracle unto itself
asking only that you believe your heart.
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2017
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Flounder Poem
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I look at You and I see the mountains moving
I look at You, and the seas are split apart
I look at You, and I see the love of ages
All bursting from one ever-faithful heart.
Sometimes our eyes grow weary in our misery
Our lids are weighted heavy from our tears
And we can't see beyond, our salty, drowning pond
So we flounder then surrender to our fears.
But I look at You and I see the mountains moving
I look at You, and the seas are split apart
I look at You, and I see the love of ages
All bursting from one ever-faithful heart.
Each day can be so filled with distractions
Rushing from one crisis to the next
And in our haste to fix, we exclude You from the mix
When the answers all lie within your text.
Cuz when I look at You, I see the mountains moving
I look at You, and the seas are split apart
I look at You, and I see the love of ages
All bursting from one ever-faithful heart
A million miracles I see
The biggest miracle would be
That You chose to love a person lost as me.
Now I look at You and I see the mountains moving
I look at You, and the seas are split apart
I look at You, and I see the love of ages
All bursting from one ever-faithful heart.
4/8/2017
Copyright © Cindi Rockwell | Year Posted 2017
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Flounder Poem
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Are you socially awkward or totally British?
Does small talk just make you feel nervous and skittish?
On the school run, the bus, in the office each day,
Do you flounder, and greet the same folk, the same way?
Never fear! The MeetGreeter will answer your prayers!
It fits in your ear - people won’t know it’s there -
It will help you fire hundreds of pitch perfect platitudes,
Wowing with wit and your cute sunny attitude.
Never more fret, “Was I rude? Was I brash?
“Was it over-familiar to bring up her rash?”
Instead you’ll delight, leave them touched that you care:
“Well hello!” “How was Rome?” “How’s the dog?” “LOVE the hair!”
Now, socially speaking, there’s nothing so hard,
As when physical contact may be on the cards.
Should I kiss once, twice, thrice? Should I hug? Should I pat?
Our new “Touch-up!” Upgrade takes care of all that!
With complex equations, reacting like lightening,
It guides you through greetings both baffling and frightening,
This one likes handshakes! Stop! That one’s quite squeezy!
Go left! Mind her ear! Yes, we make it all easy.
No more will you wake up with heart palpitations,
Dreading the day’s meet-and-greet situations!
No silence! No cringing! No gawky goodbyes!
With MeetGreeter, just see your social skills fly!
18 March 2018
For the contest “Advertisement: Sell Something, Make Us Want It!”
Sponsored by Lewis Raynes
Placed ninth
Copyright © Nina Parmenter | Year Posted 2018
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Flounder Poem
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("Noh" is an ancient Japanese style of
drama, broadly similar to Elizabethan
tragedy. "The Wind in the Pines" is
my version of a well-known Noh play.)
2. The Beach, After Dark
The coast has drowned in the gloomy night,
but the moon shines. Two women in white
come along the shore - Matsukaze,
with her sister Murasame.
They seem to float like smoke, in dresses
with long, wide sleeves, their hair in tresses.
MATSUKAZE
The sad waves lap on our feet,
then slide back. Like hope, they meet
us running, then dissipate. Once spent,
they slink off, ashamed, but can't prevent
falling down to the cold sea.
This is how it must always be.
MURASAME
When the tide relinquishes its assault on land
and drains away, it is sure to strand
small pools among the boulders, strewn
along the beach. And, all too soon,
the life in these tiny oceans, forlorn,
will fade, like you and I, before the dawn.
MATSUKAZE
The moon can't cast any light through the pine.
Our lovely sleeves, weighted down with brine,
will tire us quickly. Crabs without shells,
we are women who have no lover. Smell
the sea fog, sister! Like a clammy dress,
it clings to us, like our loneliness.
MURASAME
Salt in everything. In our hair, our skin.
It sucks out our essence, leaves us thin
and pale. Our only company, the moon ...
and she will weaken and flounder, soon
enough. She stirs the ocean, churning
chill water, exciting in us a hopeless yearning.
MATSUKAZE
I hear the fishermen out on the sea,
and I want there to be a man for me.
They call, one to another. Out there.
I smell smoke stinging the air,
but no woodsman sees my boxwood comb.
They cut fresh reeds, not for my home.
MURASAME
Look, sister! The moon's in my pail!
And in yours, too. But there it sails,
up in the sky, singular, not two.
These little moons are like me and you,
illusions that can never truly be,
two facets of one destiny.
Copyright © Michael Coy | Year Posted 2017
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In my family garden, there grows a lovely rose.
A beautiful blossom who helps rid me of my woes.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I dedicate these couplets to my sister, Frances Rose.
Dearest Sister, Fran,
As children, it was you and me. We only had each other.
Never really felt a connection with our older brother.
Younger than I, by little more than just a year,
you're always there to comfort me in my times of fear.
With my marriage at its end, I was filled with sorrow,
You came to me and said, "I've a shoulder you can borrow."
You rescued me, when in the night 'he' broke my hand.
You are my cool water when I cross the desert sand.
Without you by my side I would have fallen apart.
You held me close when you saw the condition of my heart.
I'm the big sister who should be looking after you,
but you wear the angel wings when I'm feeling blue.
You never make me feel ashamed by saying, "I told you so."
So I'm writing you this couplet poem just so you'll know.
No matter how many times I stumble and I fall,
you bend and pick me up so I never have to crawl.
You are my umbrella when the rain pours down,
my fairy godmother when I'm in need of a gown.
You are my life raft when in the sea I flounder.
You reason with me until my mind is sounder.
You are my protector from those who lie,
Give me strength when our loved ones die.
When others turn their backs and don't seem to care
I know you'll be at my side. You've always been there.
You dry my tears and then bring me to laughter.
And for all you do, I'll be grateful forever after.
If I ask you to do me a favor,
You smile and say, "Sure, what flavor?'
Much more than just a friend...that's a sad cliché.
There is only one more thing that I have to say.
Because you're the only one who has ever really understood,
I love you far beyond the sharing of our beautiful sisterhood.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Lin Lane ~ December 18th 2015
Sibling Contest ~ Eve Roper
Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2015
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Flounder Poem
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Nowhere Man
Star dust, the stuff of a fool’s dreams.
Oh !!!, to travel upon star dust streams
- that glorious, never ending journey -
into the realms, the space of many.
This old spirit, seems, not to fit into any
mold nor on any rung of the social latter,
that, I think, should not, ever matter.
And so I have to wonder ?,
as upon this planet, I wander.
Is there any place for me ?,
where I might fit in – one day to see ?
In my youth, some perceived me to be
Sall Minnio, even the King,
- Elvis Presley, - this idea girls would bring
with them, in their pursuit of me.
As an adult, I came to be seen
– an Italian, a Greek, a Mexican –
a First Nations is what I’ve been
as folks do the best they can.
As people guessed at my race,
looking and looking into my face,
the essence, the spirit, the soul of this man.
Yet nowhere do I fit - I belong to no place.
Nowhere do I find a fitting space
for this German, French, British, Native,
gene pool, my heritage doth give.
Plus the few – long forgotten – more
that came through the genetic door
– open for viewing the heart of this old soul –
where there is reflection and getting to know.
There have been some who would pass
this face of many – this face of looking glass
refraction – to see truth – a Redman’s blood in the veins
of this First Nation soul – the spirit which remains
for this old soul, the essence of my spirit,
even in times when many would not tolerate it.
And so, it is not a wonder
why this soul seems to flounder,
cannot find anything sounder,
between the jagged, ragged edges
of created, keen, sharp - wedges
between who and what I am, and
where it is I could possibly stand.
There is not – it seems to me – a place
where I fit in, can stand, turn and face,
see a possible niche – a place to belong,
before, my life is almost gone,
as I look back upon all the roads,
- the stories, the tales, the heavy loads –
I have travelled, yet know not what will be told
of what rung, on the social ladder I hold,
what plateau to find shelter in ?,
what plane to fly above, be comfortable in ?,
what place to rest my spirit, my soul within ?,
what space can I find to forget all the sin ?
I have walked with the sane and insane.
I have talked with the educated and uneducated.
I have been in the company of intelligence and unintelligent.
I have laid with the secure and the insecure.
I have laid with passion’s fire and frigid’s cold.
I have known the moral and the immoral.
I have known those of faith and the faithless
I have known the killed and the killer
I have known those who have taken their own lives
I have known the givers and the takers
I have known the movers and the shakers
I have known the honest and the dishonest
I have known the psychic and the blind.
I have known the truth sayers and the bullshitters,
The fast lane, the slow lane, the middle lane I’ve moved in.
The sober, the drunkard – I’ve been and been with.
The strong, the weak – I’ve been and been with.
The used, the abused – I’ve been and been with.
The users and the abusers -- I’ve known and know me.
The wealthy, the poor – I’ve known and know me.
Financial wealth and Spirituality -- I’ve known and know me.
The saver of a life -- I’ve known and was me.
The living and the dead -- I’ve known and know me.
Having a brush with artists has been my fate.
Having acted up with entertainers has been my fate.
Having had words with writers has been my fate.
Having become a rhymer, like my forth cousin, has been my fate.
I have played with players – strummed a note or two.
I have laid with singers-- sung a note or two.
I have laid with dancers – danced a step or two.
I have struck an arc alongside a welder – a time or two.
I have sprayed painted cars alongside a painter – a time or two.
Hammering out metal with body men – I have done.
Twisting wrenches with mechanics – I have done.
Busining along side business men – I have done.
Being a lover, I always thought, was my forte.
Being a husband, I thought I knew how to play.
Being a father, I thought I knew I would stay.
Being a friend, I thought was always my way.
To be a son – a child’s dream.
To be a brother – not to be it seems
as all the above drifts downstream,
leaving one to wonder, what life really means ?
Life’s journey can be a wondrous mystery !,
when one leafs through the pages of his history.
One’s life can also be a disastrous story ?,
one of little hope, dim light and no glory.
So what is left for this old fool ?,
but to carry on breaking the old rule,
rules that make it possible to call oneself a poet,
something I never call myself, a poet, and I know it !
I do the best I can
That is who I am !
Being a carny – traveling with The World’s Finest show.
For a couple of seasons – that is all I did know.
Being a dishwasher, a server, a busboy, a waiter, a manager
of a restaurant, many dimensions of life. I was egger
to come into contact with, to try and understand.
As fate would have it, understanding never came to this hand.
Today, a bum – forty eight years ago – father said
“ the best dressed bum in town ” would be my stead.
What goes around – at some point in time – comes around.
There is some truth to this, that I have certainly found.
Even though I have touched the edges of many a life.
Many places, pieces of each and everyone, not one has been
a place for me, a place I felt I belonged, the places I’ve seen
do not leave pillows for my spirit, beds to rest my soul, rife
with uncertainty, is my state, almost every day
I can find no place, no space for me to play.
Looking into this distorted collage
I wonder if it is but a mirage ?
My flaws lie in the heart of my feeling !, it is my sin !,
this belief that there is no place, no space where I fit in.
B. J. “A” 2
May 1st 2004
Copyright © William J. Jr. Atfield | Year Posted 2014
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Flounder Poem
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I'm trying a brand new recipe
that is claimed to be delishful.
Fresh beans with hue of grue
with butter pat and bacon fat melded.
I served it to my family
and waited for the praises
My tween son smarked,
"This grub you made
is truly vomitrocious".
"It's all you're getting for your brunch,
you better eat it up."
He snarled, "I'll wait for linner
and scraped it in the garbage.
He flundered off and I let him go.
I didn't want the hassle.
The other children squiggled a bit
but ate their food so they left too.
After brunch, I opened my email.
Nothing but infomercials.
The small children were watching The Muppets
and my tween was on the internet.
I settled down to a sitcom and
the peace and quiet was fantabulous.
August 22,2014 For Potmanteaus contest
delishful (delightful and delicious)
grue (green and blue)
melded (melted ad welded)
tween (teen and between)
smarked (smirk and remarked)
vomitrocious (vomit and atrocious)
brunch (breakfast and lunch)
linner (lunch and dinner)
flundered (flounder and blunder)
hassle (haggle and tussle)
squiggled (squirmed and wiggled)
infomercials (information and commercials)
Muppets (marionettes and puppets)
Internet (International and network)
sitcom (situation and comedy)
fantabulous (fantastic and fabulous) My brother who was a radio personality
swore that he coined the word fantabulous.
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2014
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Flounder Poem
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(for: them who are ever there!)
these branches and roots
that cord to the grave ancients
should be free from man’s swords!
both oracle and priest held for days …
I
Your voice speaks in the silence of the night
To the deep still shady earth
That once held a great zest for our childhood
Here in the once thick wooded land
Where progenitors strewed their rustic huts
Yes! where, sang tho’ unseen those sonorous kin-spirits.
2
Ah! Happy and keen folks were the ancients, then;
But their sons? what a sad lot, now! even
Demented hearts aching from those drinks of dizzy times
Raw anguish, sorrow, painful hemlocks of death-lines,
The slow songs that tune softly to the mirthful graves
That still hold the ancestors like prisoners in the wild caves.
3
O! for your unravished wave of primal welcome,
That bade the sonorous weaver come
To make loud greeting of blue azure with song-fleet
O! for such uudecoded song that for the sagging flesh bear ointment
Secret balm from the rhyming unsteady palm leaves of the winds
That flute clearly to ancestors those eternal silent songs.
4
Known are those festal spirits of your night
From whom many lives readily spring forth:
Mused thru’ the voices of strong mortal compeers –
Priests, priestesses, praise-singers, warriors, dancers!
That with gusto, flounder across the space of time;
O, for those festal moments of flush! o, for the celestial clime!
5
You are the unseen bridge of the world,
Like Nturukpa, that elder amongst our ferry trees;
Your bark exhumes the bright colours of the past;
And carried thru’ the festal wings of your night
We desire to be mused to the ethereal clime;
Of uncurbed equanimity and euphoria of the divine.
6
I now know the anguish of these festal spirits
Who take refuge on the water-void banks
Of the topmost branches and leaves;
I now know the noise of their feasts in sacrifices:
Doleful sacrifices in the gods’ swollen foot!
Then adieu! adieu! from the cloyed humans in advent!
7
O farewell! with all your festal spirits,
Who coaxed to the night of sacrifices, priests,
Priestesses, dancers, praise-singers, warriors of the land;
Adieu! with these cold celebrations and coax-throated songs heard,
Thru’ the voice and echoes of rain’s thunder,
In the day of the panther and his noble twin, the hunter.
Copyright © Canny Amah | Year Posted 2010
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Flounder Poem
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Wipe away acrid tears of yesterday,
unchain the unforgiving guilt inside.
Listen, for a moment, to what I say.
You must, to yourself, open your heart wide.
Allow His lasting love to be your guide,
flounder not in the sea of broken souls.
Rise above. Feel His love. Heal, become whole.
Paula Swanson
For the contest: Rhyme Royal
Sponsored by Dr. Ram
Copyright © Paula Swanson | Year Posted 2011
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Flounder Poem
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Adrift in a current
I cannot control.
No time for excuses
but there's poetry here,
if only I can hold
in this backeddy
to jot it all down.
Already the end of October,
half the trees are bare
and most songbirds gone,
only crows and jays remain.
In the rivers,
spent salmon flounder,
their future deposited
in a gravel bank.
Ice on the deck this morning,
I almost slipped going down
to play fetch with the dogs
and plant next year's garlic.
Soon there will be snow.
Each day grows shorter
each night longer,
and the darkness
keeps me awake.
Used to be I worried
about others,
these days others
worry about me.
And I look to the future
with a jumble of
anticipation and dread
for the moment when
my hours and days
flow no more.
Copyright © D.W. Rodgers | Year Posted 2014
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Flounder Poem
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When green eyed jealousy asserts her will
and apologies flounder in her wake
promiscuity's no longer a thrill.
You can’t avoid the acid tears that spill
and beg her forgiveness for pity’s sake
when green eyed jealousy asserts her will.
When subtle looks adopt an autumn chill
and nights become impossible to take
promiscuity's no longer a thrill.
Insults are exchanged with uncanny skill
yet your future happiness is at stake
when green eyed jealousy asserts her will.
If you find you need a drink or a pill
and you're afraid your heart’s going to break
promiscuity's no longer a thrill.
And angry words get increasingly shrill
berating you for every past mistake.
When green eyed jealousy asserts her will
promiscuity's no longer a thrill.
(A villanelle Poem.)
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015
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Flounder Poem
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Lights of the city are twinkling across
arches of the rivers and shining down
as if to illuminate the jolly path
of the old man known as Father Christmas-
Kris Kringle-Santa Claus or Saint Nick
tonight tumbling onto the rooftops -
clattering down many smokeless chimneys
carrying his velveteen sack of gifts.
Santa forget my gifts this year-I'd rather
you give them to someone in need.
Bless some child and teach him to smile.
Take my abundance and feed the hungry-
wrap them up tight in my down feather coat.
My wish is that they hear the music I hear-
find their voice and sing "Silent Night".
I'll be their harmony and their strength.
Sinterklaas-take the afflicted and allow
the Lord to make them whole once more.
Don't let them flounder or look backwards.
Dry their eyes and show them the light
of a vibrant future-a hopeful dawn.
Let a merry Christmas be mine to share
with every jingle of silver bells
and the richest fragrance the yuletide brings.
Copyright © Deb Wilson | Year Posted 2013
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Flounder Poem
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the Sun and the moon
two loyal fellows
have never met each other
the sun and the moon
are showing off
their charm
new day has come!
new day has come!
sweetest greeting
of the brightest sun
shines and smiles
uncover the curtain of a new day
cease the flounder
welcome the wonder
beautiful nightfall
has turned up with peace !
admire the milky moon face
gleam with its beauty
of sparkling stars
for they have never known
each others‘ grandeur
let’s sing a morning hymn
and a night carol
to let them know
how we admire them all
~ Sukmawati Komala~
2014
Copyright © Sukmawati Komala | Year Posted 2014
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Flounder Poem
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Flaming steaks and ice cold drinks
you thought good food had become extinct
until you ate here and gave us a nod and a wink.
Appetizers galore with soft stringy cheese sticks, artichoke hearts deep fried
with a taste of parmesan cheese and a dip to please.
bacon wrapped shrimp you might want to frame, seared sea scallops that
make you want to gallop, stuff mushrooms that'll make you croon, escargot
and baked claims as you eat them you'll definitely leave a stain
Ice burg lettuce or romaine with fresh dressing all homemade.
Lobster bisque soup with a deep rich taste if you don't like
seafood try Tomato bisque instead, French onion soup either a bowel
or cup just don't be a glut.
Your auntre is about to start your just warming up
hot garlic bread with a wonderful spread, Chris's secret recipe if he
told you how he made it you'd be dead.
Succulent steaks porterhouse, ribeye, serlion, T-bone and of course filet
add garlic or lemon butter to dip, 'hooray!'
Chicken flew by giving you legs and wings deep fried
want a little less oil try the fresh grilled chicken
fit for a royal.
Hamburger, cheeseburger just choose your cheese and of course
add bacon please. Want an egg on top sunny side up
when you squeeze the bun it will definitely erupt.
The beef is so fresh the cows stopped mooing when
it hit the grill with no sign of stress.
Vegetable melody or a little broccoli please.
The potato why so many things I can do
baked, French fried, homefried or even mashed
some round or shaped like a torpedo.
Baked fish Talapia, Flounder or even Sea Bass
'Oh' so fresh. We have an aquarium in the back,
just teasing we use a pole and bait at our near by lake.
End the evening as you sit back with a luscious sweet dessert
but please don't drool bibs are provided if needed
or even a paper sack on your way out.
Just remember as my Daddy always said,
'You all come back now you hear, friends are like family
and we hold you all dear!'
Coming Soon: The new "Fire and Ice Grill and Pub"
T Reams
Copyright © TAMMY REAMS | Year Posted 2015
Details |
Flounder Poem
|
twilight time
at deserted shore ~
abandoned boats flounder
16 March 2015
Three Line Poetry - Poetry Contest : 10th Place
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi
Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015
Details |
Flounder Poem
|
Life is a precious gift from God. We humans long for a purpose for our lives.
People who don't know their purpose for living often flounder in uncertainty.
Humans need hope and something to believe in. Many believe in temporal pleasures,
i.e. money, success, material possessions and the like. They usually only
bring temporary satisfaction.
When God reaches down and grabs a person's heart and soul, now that is true life.
To be touched by the Spirit of God is a miracle in itself. It is for those who seek it.
What love, what joy, what peace, to receive His great love. Oh miracle of miracles!
What release, to have my sins and heavy burdens lifted, paid for and forgiven.
This gift can only be given to those who truly believe and receive the
saving work of Jesus on the cross. The reward: new life and life eternal forever in glory.
A place in heaven where there is no more death, no more pain, no more sorrow.
While living on God's great earth, God calls believers to share the good news of Jesus.
I want to share His story, His love, His greatness, His compassion and His goodness.
This is what I was called to do. In my heart of hearts, I want to live for Him,
and find purpose and fulfillment from God, my Creator.
He is my life. To die to my selfishness and live for Christ. My life is a
saving work of grace that I daily live, according to the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.
Written on 1029/2015
For "Life According to...." Contest
Sponsor: Silent One
Copyright © Laura Leiser | Year Posted 2015
Details |
Flounder Poem
|
SUMMER
Stride out
Summer is outdoors
Is no other place
No yearning look out a window will thrill
the frame
The nest spills its load to pure nature
And flaps about by heat stricken
Stride out
Summer is awakening
Is not for old words croaking
The young in heart only half-sense
are blithely ignorant
They grow with the verdant crowds
And flounder happily about
Stride out
Summer is for doing
Is a wild runabout
Let them shrink in awareness those who frown
Summer is nature laughing and jolly
Let them die those who only sleep and watch
Dave Austin
Copyright © daver austin | Year Posted 2015
Details |
Flounder Poem
|
A Song !!!
Quiet Sorrow / Silent Tears
I awoke to cold, wet, gray skies,
remembered the pain- your eyes,
a story told – I heard – telling me
of your sad plight- your fight to be.
I closed my eyes to this early mornings rise.
A river of tears – into dream land – from my eyes,
carry my along, your words cry out, why ?
I wonder ?, then I know !, why you have to cry
and cry in silence ( from within ), stifled by fears
- your companion’s throughout all these years –
that have not stopped you, yet never let you be.
They have caged your spirit, will not set you free
from all that your mother and me,
in our infinite wisdom ?, could not see.
I left you to flounder in your mothers sea
of pain, anger, frustration, vindictive hate.
I left you with ghosts- from both of us – to your fate,
without a solid foundation, upon which, your creation
could rise, I left you no hand to hold – be your salvation –
as you grew up in a world, where nothing but starvation
of the soul, spirit, this little Girl, - where nothing could grow –
was the essence of your stifled little world – this is what did show
you a path – to rise above, free spirited, touch the sun, to know,
- there is life, for you, beyond our flaws and my hollow soul. -
that who and what you are
is but a great and shining star
that has – beyond us – gone far
to eradicate – from your soul – who we are,
and no matter what, we can no longer mar
your heart, your spirit, your soul, your star,
for you have risen above ?, to be the woman you are.
B. J. “A” 2
March 7th 2006
And so my Dear, leave the ghosts, us ghosts behind, for your mother and me to live with, and find the freedom that seems to elude you, take wing and do not be afraid to FLY !!!
Love
Dad
Copyright © William J. Jr. Atfield | Year Posted 2015
Details |
Flounder Poem
|
Call of the wild
We talkspeak and nothing much is
said until a bright spore spot spawns
and gets a seed for sale—compliant
of brotherly love passions filler like dirty
socks in a hamper forgotten we keep in tepid touch
but do the “tweens” ever meet to
justify the ends – need the knot
best tied. Sometimes the curtains
are pulled and drawn--do you know
who what when where we aren’t—and the
right manhole cover that will fit, you
know when the carpet fibers are all
going in the same direction? I keep the faith
in plentitudes for lasting hope of a brothermode
lust karma where the void is moleculed in
semiosis---so words that fret deep are cured
in a mindful vocabulary of card-bored achieve-
ment. Leave the baggage or at least check it
in so the load is light and the trip tarries
long but easy. Mute the long differences in and
cast the polyester aside--give garbage credit
were it’s due and leave the spider nest so
well webbed-you owe yourself the un-union dues
you’ve paid—garner some objective free fromdom
and put yourself in a life so
short only true abandon will fit, once
it’s gone no matter of factness trying will recov-
compensate over empty-end of sentence flounder. When
each cheek is continually slapped with lazy
dupedity the fuse is up from head
battering bleed ins, soulful suicide sacrifices
rot the root and close the bloom of the
extension umbilical cord—sewer injustice due to
lack of love funds account closed—let us break the
cyclopattern and re route the threadbare infr-
struck sure so reminiscent that we open a new
chapter in ripe blood resolutions that shake down
the predicted familial foundations and
project the unspoken long left unsaids-give us a
face slap so the eyes stay clear and the heart
sounds pure, simple over the voice wire. Take some
needed refuge in my critical solice and rest you
fragile frame for a sublime stopover and only
keep time with your peace pace, head on straight
and no peeking from a shoulder stance
of accustomed living burdened. Together we
can make a full couple glass, as only the years can
evaporate our standard---should the glass
become half emptyfull when the
poignant pitcher with no handle no
bottom lifes pour-less to infect and
presuppose a new conjecture on a
benign brother whose lost in the shuffle
with a badly drawn inverbatim scrabble
shelfhand of catlitter consonants-----------------------------------Pass?
Copyright © Dave Collins | Year Posted 2013